Francium
by MaddoxTheInvincible
Summary: Damien Thorn and Christophe DeLorne feed on one another's pain. When they're around each other, it's like Francium and water-huge, huge explosion. So what will happen when they get paired up for a science project on the radioactive element? (Reupload, due to problems viewing. Rated T for language and violence.)
1. Chapter 1 - Hatred

**Here it is! The first chapter of Francium. Just let me say, Christien is like my favorite pairing, but I never see it, like anywhere. Therefore, I am going to write a kickass story for you guys! CONFIDENCE! :3**

**Enjoy!**

**-M**

Christophe hated God.

He hated the fact that God was the supposed "lord" of everyone and everything. He didn't like being told what to do by some being that probably didn't even exist. He hated the idea of being a pawn for some higher being to play with. He hated the idea that people worshiped a guy who didn't even do anything to help anybody. He was a cruel man, and when he did something bad to the Earth, people just waved it away, saying that God was angry that they weren't liking him _enough._ Christophe got angry when people told him not to say the Lord's name in vain. He would rant about how God deserved it, for doing all the bad things to people, and how blind people were to just forgive God for everything.

Christophe wasn't blind, though. He knew what God was up to, and he wasn't going to fall for His shit. He would say anything, just to piss off the almighty ruler, or whatever.

Though God wasn't the only thing Christophe hated. He hated anything that was unreal, fake—anything that wasn't genuine. He disliked most music—realizing how it was edited so much that what really came from the artist's soul was bullshit. He hated girls, too— explaining why he was gay-how they hid their faces with makeup, how they giggled and gossiped about things he didn't care about. They, too, were fake, never exposing their true selves, for fear of being alone or isolated. Christophe scoffed at their monophobia. To him, being alone wasn't just something that happened from time to time—it was a lifestyle.

But overall, over everything else—Christophe hated Damien Thorn. With a passion. Many people assumed that a French Atheist and the son of Satan would get along—but they didn't. At all. Damien was cruel, malicious in a way that Christophe couldn't describe without ranting. Christophe shut everyone out—he hadn't loved anything in his entire life—but he wasn't bloodthirsty like Damien was. The red-eyed Antichrist had just an aura around him that radiated something that Christophe could only place as _evil._

Christophe thought about as he walked into school, reluctantly putting out his cigarette. The unimportant paper object dropped to the ground and gave a final attempt at burning, but it was suffocated quickly by the snow around it. Christophe watched the fire in it die, then stalked into the school, muttering French profanities under his breath.

He got to his locker and opened it, pulling the jammed thing forcefully, until it finally gave up and opened. Disorganized binders filled to the brim with notes toppled over one another like dominoes, falling all around him. Christophe swore loudly as he picked the damned things up. Everything the brown-haired boy did, he did it against the way God would tell him to. So he picked up the items, cursing the Big Man for putting this upon him.

Christophe got what he needed for his first class—Chemistry. He despised that class. All of the numbers and symbols made no sense, they got all jumbled in his brain like alphabet-and-number soup. What was more, he had the fucking class with Damien, or the Dark Prince, as he insisted people call him. Christophe, though, referred to him as the Royal Pain In The Ass.

The royal asshole was sitting in his chair already when Christophe walked in. The Antichrist was smirking cheekily as the French boy took his seat reluctantly.

"_Bonjour, connard."_ he murmured in his soft, low voice. Damien had taken the liberty of learning French, just to annoy Christophe. Well, partly. Secretly, Damien wished that Christophe would be impressed by his smooth, un-accented French. But he hid away those thoughts. They were locked in a place in his mind where no one could find them. Christophe knew Damien was just trying to get a rise out of him, so all he did was give the Antichrist a glare.

"What is it, _princesse?_ Shy today?" Damien asked, his gentle tone of voice not matching his scathing words. He knew Christophe hated being called _"princesse." _

Damien's smirk grew as Christophe's dark hazel eyes flashed. He loved it when Christophe got angry. It was a reassurance, in a way—it made him aware that Christophe cared about him. Maybe not in the way he wanted to, but he cared nonetheless.

"_Va te faire foutre, batard." _Christophe replies. He hadn't put much thought into the response—he was feeling particularly cynical today.

"What's wrong, 'Tophe? You seem a bit sad today." Damien said in a tone of mock sweetness. Behind the mask of softness, his voice was razor sharp, cutting Christophe to the bone. Damien walked over to Christophe, invading the Frenchman's much-needed personal space.

"Get away from me, Damien. I don't feel like dealing wiz you today." Christophe muttered, his voice soft and weak. Damien sometimes wondered if he should. That is, leave Christophe alone. He knew that abusing the Frenchman wasn't right, but it was the only thing he knew how to do. He _was _from Hell, and in Hell, all everyone knew was chaos and peril. But Christophe seemed significantly different today. His green eyes—that always captivated Damien—were sunken and lifeless, making have a dead-looking face. Even then, Damien wanted to caress the Frenchman's cheek, feel Christophe's tanned skin beneath his own—

No. He refused to think about it.

Damien did have feelings toward Christophe, but Christophe had nothing in his soul but hate for the Antichrist. Christophe hated Damien more than anything in the world.

"I just wanted to let you know, Christophe..." Damien murmured in Christophe's ear. Christophe flinched. Damien rarely said his full name before. "...That you are nothing. You are a miserable, useless nothing that no one cares about. Nobody cares if you live or die. Nobody, except me." Damien whispered.

Realizing what the black-haired boy just said, both of them tensed. Christophe was stiff and frozen, not moving a muscle.

"I like having you here." Damien continued. "Because I can torture you. That's all you're good for. You're my torture toy."

Damien felt guilt sweep over him, a feeling of remorse that was impossible to hide. All that was coming out of his mouth was lies. Ugly, disgusting lies that he would never say to Christophe if the brunette only understood...

Damien's thoughts were interrupted by Christophe's fist slamming into the left side of his face. He felt liquid ooze out of his nose, knowing that it was blood. He couldn't help but let a sick smirk crawl over his face. He had fueled Christophe's fire enough to start a fight. He loved fighting the French boy. It meant contact, and contact was what Damien longed for.

Instinctively, Christophe grabbed Damien's collar and pinned him against the wall. This happened every single day. They both knew the routine—Damien would beat Christophe down with words, and the Frenchman would retaliate with his fists. Yes—Christophe was less a man of words and more one of action, while Damien thrived off of stabbing the other boy verbally. Christophe had to admit—it hurt. The words had taken a toll on him for the past few years. He would never admit it, but sometimes he would cry a bit into his pillow before he drifted off into his—for once—peaceful realm of sleep.

Damien heard his nose crack as Christophe punched him again. Sick as it was, he _enjoyed _it. His dark chuckles made the brunette pull away for a moment.

"Why are you laugheeng, beetch?" Christophe growled.

Damien stopped. What was with him today? He had slipped up twice—that locked up part of him, which he thought was hidden far away, where no one else could see it—had suddenly come out to play in public.

"Shut up, Frenchy. Sit down, the teacher's coming." Damien muttered under his breath, wiping the blood from his aching nose. The two boys did agree on something—they wouldn't be seen fighting. They would both get in huge trouble. And both the Frenchman and the Antichrist loved hurting one another too much to give the other up.

**French stuff**

**Bonjour, connard-Hello, asshole**

**Princesse-Princess**

**Va te faire foutre, batard - Fuck you, bastard**

**I speak French fluently, so yeah, I know all this stuff. :D**


	2. Chapter 2 - Fear

**Chapter 2! It's a quick one. Wow. I have written 4 chapters of different stories today. I. Am. Worn. Out.**

**French sayings will be at the bottom if you need them, or if you're too lazy to boot up Google Translate. :P**

**Enjoy!**

**-M**

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. Christophe avoided Damien as much as he possibly could. Normally, he would take any chance he had to smash the Antichrist's head into a locker, but today, he wasn't feeling into it. Nonetheless, he and Damien always fought after school. It was like a date, but with hate replacing love and violence replacing, well—everything else.

Chrisotophe went around the school, to where the dumpster sat. Thankfully, there weren't any Goth kids there. Soon, though, that would be different. Christophe thought about how Damien had both changed and stayed the same. Damien had shot up in height, having a good few inches on Christophe. His voice had also dropped about four octaves lower, making his voice smooth and silky, though his words were cruel and damaging. Damien's black hair contrasted with his sharp, pale face and swooped over his red eyes in a way that made the hungry gleam in them come out even more. It was almost sexy to Christophe—almost. Damien, however, still wore the same type of clothes—all black, with no patterns. All he ever wore with them was his Antichrist pendant, his wallet chain, and that malicious smirk. It all made the French boy want to gag. The way Damien stared at him, the way he spoke, the way his eyes would blaze with who-knows-what—it all made Christophe feel uncomfortable.

Damien finally came into view. Christophe checked his watch. Yep, 2:45 sharp. Like always. Like every single day since grade four.

"Hello, _princesse._" Damien said, his eyes flickering in amusement.

"Can we just on wiz zis, please? I 'ave to get 'ome." Christophe rolled his green eyes at Damien, whose heart sank slowly. He hated doing this to the French boy. He wished he could just express his feelings to him in a healthy way. But there wasn't any way. Christophe would never let him, never forgive him for the past few years.

So Damien did what he always did: He lied. He lied by masking his pained expression with one of malice, and spat out lies through his mouth.

"Too bad." Damien said in a quiet, gentle voice. "Because I'm not going to let you leave."

Damien walked over to Christophe, closer and closer, until the French boy had backed up against a wall, Damien pinned his arms down against the wall, and began kicking the French boy in the stomach. Christophe coughed and spluttered, as each kick sent him into more and more agony. In a last-ditch effort to get Damien off him, he spat blood at the Antichrist's eye.

Surprised, Damien loosened his hold on Christophe, and the brunette took the opportunity to twist out of his grip and jump the raven. Damien was now on the snow-covered ground, the white mass melting around him instantly as soon as his warm body touched it. Christophe put his right forearm on Damien's throat, with enough pressure to keep him still but keep him breathing. Christophe took all his anger and built-up frustration onto Damien. With every punch, he released a worry or an annoyance. Almost every one of them had to do with Damien himself—his black hair, his red eyes, that soft voice.

Damien's face was getting seriously pounded. Blood was smeared all over his cheeks and even managed to get onto his forehead. But the Antichrist wouldn't give up. He took a knee and, while Christophe was in the right spot, kneed him right in the manhood. Christophe buckled over in pain, and Damien took the opportunity and flipped them over so that he was on top. Christophe's green eyes flashed with anger and pure hatred.

"_Let mots peux pas expliquer comment je te deteste."_ he growled. Damien couldn't help it, he felt his cheeks get warm and his breathing get heavier from Christophe's sultry voice. However, his heart grew heavy. The other boy really did hate him. There wasn't an ounce of any other feeling in Christophe's body. He really couldn't explain how that Thorn kid got on his nerves.

Damien couldn't bring himself to punch Christophe's face right then and there. The boy's tanned skin was sweaty, even though the ground was cold. It must've been Damien's scathing body heat, paired with the adrenaline caused by fighting. No matter what it was, is drove Damien completely wild. Damien leaned in closer, the smirk on his face growing wider, and the want in his chest growing larger.

"_Oui, et les mots peux pas expliquer comment tu me rends fou, Christophe." _I murmured in his ear, letting my lips trail along past his ear down his neck.

It took a while for Christophe to realize what was happening. The way Damien spoke his French was flawless, without any accent or grammatical errors. The way his eyes had an unusual, sadistic look to them. The icing on the cake, though, was when Damien's scalding hot lips made their way down his neck.

Christophe frowned. In one millisecond, he knew: Damien and Christophe hated each other. Now Damien was acting all...needy. Why? What had he done? Was it some trick? Whatever it was, it wasn't right. It wasn't the way things were supposed to be.

But Christophe couldn't deny it. He felt good in the few seconds that Damien showed something that wasn't pure evil. But those feelings needed to be kept hidden, s he did the right thing.

_"OH, PUTAIN!" _Christophe shouted, shoving Damien off him so suddenly that Damien fell, face-first, into the snow. A small pool of red began to surround his head as he got up and, for the second time that day, wiped the blood away from his nose. Christophe was grumbling curses through clenched teeth as he straightened himself out.

"What ze fuck is wrong wiz you, Damien?" he growled, grabbing Damien's collar.

For once, Damien was speechless. His lips couldn't make out the words. For the first time in his life, staring onto those blood-red eyes, Christophe saw something different—fear. Damien was afraid of him. He had did it. He had won. Finally, after all these years...Damien had silently admitted defeat.

Christophe dropped Damien after that, and, without looking back at the completely frozen Antichrist behind him, strode away.

**French Stuff**

**Lets mots peux pas expliquer comment je te deteste - Words cannot explain how I hate you**

**Oui, et lets mots peux pas expliquer comment tu me rends fou, Christophe- Yes, and words cannot explain how you make me crazy, Christophe**

**Oh, PUTAIN!-Oh, damn!**

**My mom says that last one a lot xD **


	3. Chapter 3 - Luck

**Here we are! The third installment! Sorry about deleting the original story, I had to re-upload due to some issues with people reading. Regardless, I would quite appreciate it if you would review this story. I like getting reviews, because it makes me write faster. I'm not just saying that, it really does help.**

**Enjoy!**

**-M**

The next few weeks, Christophe noticed a significant change in Damien. The raven hadn't stopped annoying Christophe, but the difference in how he did it made the Frenchman antsy. How, in Chemistry, Damien would stare at him, with that oh-so-famous smirk on his face, his eyes gleaming wickedly, but not in the way they did before. Damien had realized, in the previous day, that there was no reason in hiding his feelings for Christophe. They had finally escaped from that secluded place in his mind, taking over all his thoughts. He would picture Christophe before he slept every night—the permanent frown etched onto his face, his tanned, slightly dirty skin, his defined arm muscles that peeked out from the fabric of his shirt. It made Damien crazy, in two ways. One being that they were pleasing to the eye, and the second being that he was supposed to hate the Frenchman. He had despised him for such a long time, but now he didn't.

Damien was determined.

Determined to make Christophe his, and no one else's. Determined to make Christophe feel for him in the same way. He knew he could find those stowed-away feelings that were hidden deep inside Christophe, but he didn't really know what to do. Damien thought about it as he entered school. No, he wasn't going to do all of that romantic bullcrap, all that would get him was a swift and direct punch in the face. He was going to _make_ Christophe love him, no matter what.

Christophe sped up his pace when he saw Damien walking towards him in the hallway. He had realized in the last few weeks that fighting the Antichrist should be avoided, unless absolutely necessary. Christophe hated Damien with such passion after their incident that he thought Damien didn't deserve his attention.

"Hello, _princesse."_ Damien purred, sneaking up behind the French boy. Christophe jumped in surprise. He didn't expect Damien to get so close to him in such little time.

"What do you want?" Christophe growled. He needed to get to Chemistry, and this Royal Ass was in the way.

Damien almost spat out what was really in his mind, but instead he lied. Yet again.

"What I want..." he said, walking around Christophe in a tight circle, grinning evilly, "...is none of your business."

"Move your ass, will you? We both 'ave to get to class." he muttered.

Damien just chuckled, as he saw Christophe's eyes flash in annoyance. He stepped closer to the Frenchman, and, instinctively, Christophe stepped back. Personal space was extremely important to the brunette. When people entered it, it felt like he had no ounce of privacy left.

Damien's blood red eyes burned into Christophe, daring him look away. But, with the two, everything was a competition, so Christophe just kept on staring right back. Damien stepped even closer. Christophe began to panic as claustrophobia set in. He felt a cold sweat erupt on his brow.

"Please, Damien. Leave me alone." Christophe begged, weakly trying to push the Antichrist away, but to no avail. His chest was pressing against Damien's now, and his back was at his locker. The hallway was deserted.

Damien looked amused at the look in those hazel eyes. They started to widen and flicker in all directions in desperation. The French boy raised his fists, but Damien quickly grabbed both of them.

"_Lachez-moi!" _Christophe shouted, overwhelmed.

"Don't think you can ever get away." Damien whispered. The soft, smooth voice in his ear made Christophe feel feverish. He was shivering and sweating at the same time. He was a wreck.

Damien realized this and an amused glint grew in his crimson eyes. To Christophe, though, it was pure bloodthirst.

"Let me go, you bastard!" Christophe struggled, but, this time, the Antichrist had him trapped. Damien's smile grew wider and his tongue flicked out from between his teeth. Christophe noticed that it was forked, like a snake's. All the more reason for him to be nervous.

"You belong to me, you hear that? You're _mine."_ Damien murmured, slowly dragging his tongue down Christophe's cheek. The French boy let out a yelp of agony as his skin began to blister. Watching the tanned skin turn to a glorious red made Damien feel all sorts of emotions—it made him feel powerful and dominant. He felt like he finally had control. But, also, he felt guilty. If he loved Christophe, why would he hurt him like this?

It was too much for Damien to think about. He tossed the thoughts aside, focusing on the boy in front of him again.

"I am not your property, you Satanic piece of sheet." Christophe looked him right in the eye. If looks could kill, Damien would be on the floor, long gone.

The fact that Christophe was fighting back sparked interest in Damien. It was one of the traits he loved about the Frenchman—his resilience.

"You're cute when you're pissed." Damien murmured, cocking his head like a small puppy, observing Christophe's face. The way his gaze bore into his, that really made the Antichrist even more infatuated with Christophe.

The brunette glared back, trying not to break eye contact. The quizzical look on Damien's face confused him slightly. So did the cryptic words coming out of his smirking mouth. Slowly, Damien released one of Christophe's hands and lifted it up to stroke his burned cheek, willing his body temperature to become icy cold. Not moving a muscle, the boy let him. Christophe flinched slightly as the cold fingers lightly brushed his skin. The contrast between their skin tones was rather dramatic—Damien's, milky, almost paper-white, against Christophe's, olive-tanned.

"Let's get to class, shall we?" Damien said softly, letting Christophe's other hand go, and backing away a few steps. The Frenchman took a sharp intake of breath, finally able to get some fresh air. However, he didn't say anything as they both entered the Chemistry room.

"You're late." the teacher stated in her monotonous voice.

Christophe knew that the teacher loved it when he spoke French, so he shoved Damien away and took on the woman himself.

"_On est tres desolee, madame. Pardonnez-nous, s'il vou plait?"_

The woman's heart melted at Christophe's low, foreign voice that Christophe had become an expert at playing up to sound super-fruity. She nodded stiffly and the two boys sat in their seats promptly. Damien gave Christophe a grin that looked like a "thank-you." Christophe rolled his eyes—he'd had enough of Damien for one day.

"As I was saying, you and a partner will choose an element from the Periodic Table. You then will present the class with poster and a movie that includes the element's atomic number, mass, and any other information you can find."

Christophe stiffened. Him—and a partner? Knowing his luck, he knew just who it was going to be. Silently, he cursed God with all of his might.

"...Kenny and Token , Craig and Stan, Eric and Gary..." the teacher droned on, listing the names. It seemed like she was putting people who hated each other together. It made him sick to his stomach, for the second time that day.

"Damien and Christophe...Kyle and Henrietta..."

Christophe groaned audibly as he slammed his head onto the desktop, frustrated. He let out a small cry of pain after doing so. The people around him stared. Craig even had the nerve to give Christophe the finger. Christophe made a mental note to fuck up that Tucker boy's face later. For now, he had to mentally scream every profanity he could think of, addressed to the Lord.

"I will be doing check-ins every day to see what you have done, and to make sure you don't throw it all together the night before the project's due..."

Even better. Now they had to work on it together. After school. Christophe groaned again.

Meanwhile, Damien was staring at the Frenchman, several seats behind him. He smiled, but not in a malicious way. It was one of happiness, for once. He had a chance with Christophe now—he knew it. And it would all start tonight.

Damien couldn't wait that long.

**French Stuff**

**Lachez-moi - Let go of me**

**On est tres desolee, madame. Pardonnez-nous, s'il vous plait? - We are really sorry, Ma'am. Forgive us, please?**


	4. Chapter 4 - Calm

**The fourth chapter! Kind of a filler, but meh, whatever. The next one will be better, I promise! Because I have no school tomorrow (again) I'll write another one. :D**

**-M**

The walk home for Christophe was hell. It didn't really help that the Antichrist was with him, either. Being around Damien was bad enough, but now he had to let him into his house to work on this fucking project. Though Damien didn't say anything—Christophe knew the don't-talk-to-me-or-you-die message to the other boy was clear—the walk still seemed unnatural and awkward.

Damien suppressed a sigh as he scrolled through the music on his iPod. He found some Korn and turned it on, letting the jerky, almost insane music take over his equally so mind. He stopped for a moment, looking over at Christophe, whose eyes were focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. Damien took out one of his earbuds awkwardly and offered it to the brunette.

"Want one?" he offered.

"Euh..._daccord."_ The French boy agreed, cautiously taking it and putting it in his ear. After a moment, he took out the object in disgust and looked at Damien.

"What ze fuck was zat?" he spat, glaring at the Antichrist.

"Relax, _princesse. _It's only Korn."

Christophe shuddered at the name of the band. He remembered when they came to town once, when he was very young—their music made no sense and startled him, to say the least.

"Well, your taste of _musique _ees sheet, _princesse."_Christophe retorted, mimicking Damien's voice on the last word. He knew they were acting childish, but he didn't care. "Now shut ze fuck up, we're 'ere."

The Frenchman opened the door to find his mother there, vacuuming the carpet.

"'Ello, kids!" she said brightly. "Christophe, 'ho ees your new friend?" when her eyes met Damien's, she jolted slightly at the sight of the red irises that stared back at her. She had never seen such a thing in her life.

"'e ees not my friend." the boy growled. "'e ees 'ere for a project, nozing more."

"Alright, zen. Go upstairs; I 'ave to work." she muttered, shooing them away. Honestly, Mrs. DeLorne didn't have anything to do—the sight of that other boy made her feel uncomfortable.

"So, what element should we pick?" Damien asked, sitting down on Christophe's bed. The room was small and a bit crowded. The bookshelf that was parallel to Christophe's bed was full of foreign titles that Damien had never heard of. Some looked very, very old.

"I don't care." Christophe grumbled, unloading his worn leather bag of textbooks and the like.

That oh-so-familiar smirk played across the Antichrist's face. "What about Francium?"

Christophe glared at Damien, even though he didn't know why, but it felt right. Everything the raven said made him want to take that old shovel he had when he was a little boy and smack him across the face.

"Very funny." he muttered, no trace of amusement on his face.

"Yeah, it's a French element, but that's not the only reason we should look at it." Damien's full smirk merged into a small half-smile. "It's the most powerful and reactive substance out there, you know."

Christophe's eyes narrowed. Curse God for making Damien a science whiz.

"Fine. Whatever." he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air, then reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. "Francium eet ees."

"Good." Damien said, watching Christophe look for his lighter. "Here, allow me."

He flicked his index finger in the direction of Christophe's cigarette and a small ember appeared, floating towards the unlit cancer stick. When it made contact, it burned normally, like nothing had ever happened. Christophe mumbled a "zank you" quietly and continued to fumble through his messenger bag, finally pulling out an old, battered laptop.

"We can do our research on zis." he said, opening the small computer. It whirred loudly, making the awkwardness between the two boys grow. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the desktop screen of the computer flicked on. Christophe got onto the web page and waited, typing furiously.

"Tell me the information and I'll write it down." Damien said, pulling a sheet of lined paper from his plain black notebook. Christophe nodded, scrolling through until he found a reliable source.

"Atomeec number...eighty seven." the French boy muttered. Damien quickly wrote it down. Christophe couldn't help but notice Damien's handwriting. It was sharp, jagged lines that scrawled across the paper to form words in all capital letters. His words were small and neat, as in a lot of thought had been put into them.

"Your 'andwriting ees...interesting." Christophe murmured, then realizing what he was saying. Too late, he couldn't pull back the words.

"I suppose." Damien shrugged. "I like writing by hand. People's handwriting tells a lot about them, you know."

Christophe nodded, continuing his search. "Eet was discovered by Marguerite Perey in 1939..."

Damien kept writing, hanging off the Frenchman's every word. This was, he realized, the only time he and Christophe would have peace. It was an unspoken rule—they needed to get a good grade on this project.

Damien loved to break rules.

Slowly, quietly, he made his way behind Christophe. The French boy thought nothing of it. Damien was probably looking to see what site he was on, or something.

Damien's eyes were gleaming with want, yearning to touch the other boy, but he resisted for a moment.

"You know, that locker must've really fucked up your back." Damien murmured softly.

Christophe frowned. He wasn't understanding where Damien was going with this.

"I'm actually really sorry for that." Damien said, his voice low. He ran a finger over the burn wound he had inflicted on the French boy earlier lightly. Christophe flinched at the sudden contact, but didn't retaliate. It almost felt nice to be touched, and Damien wasn't going to be this nice anytime else.

"Y'know, you look really stressed out." Damien purred in the Frenchman's ear. Christophe let a low growl rise in his throat. Not this again.

Softly, Damien's hands fell to Christophe's large shoulders, slowly rubbing and massaging them. Instantly, Christophe felt himself react. Regardless, he wasn't going to let this...obstacle distract him from his grade.

"Eet was ze...ze last element ever discovered." he stammered, as Damien worked out one of the kinks in his back. Damien continued to rub his back, not bothering to take notes.

"Shouldn't you be writing zis down?" Christophe asked, feeling woozy already by the Antichrists almost magical hands. They felt foreign and new, and that made him uncomfortable.

"It's alright. I'll remember." Damien cooed. If only Christophe was facing him. He wanted so desperately to see what emotions lay beneath those hazel eyes.

Damien's hands made their way to the small of his back, and Christophe let out a sigh of relief when the tension there was released. He felt relaxed, so much so that he didn't care whether it was Damien massaging him or fucking God. All that mattered was that those hands on his back felt amazing. He never wanted it to stop—until it did.

"_Ca va mieux, cherie?"_ Damien asked, his words rolling off his tongue in perfect French. The Antichrist was expecting Christophe to jump at him on the last word, but he didn't. The brunette simply let out a "_Oui" _in response and kept on typing.

**French Stuff!**

**Daccord-Okay**

**Musique-Music**

**Ca va mieux, cherie? - Feeling better, darling?**

**Oui -Yes**

**Be sure to review and stuff! It makes me write faster :3**


	5. Chapter 5 - Frustration

**The fifth chapter! Yay! Sorry this took so long, my mom was using the computer today, so I couldn't write until about 9 PM. One of my reviewers told me not to hesitate with the French, so there's gonna be a lot of it in this chapter. Heh heh... have fun!**

-**M**

The next day, Christophe sat in his French class, frustrated. His teachers had insisted he take French, to show the other students (who couldn't give less a damn) "culture." He had become tired of his teachers constantly urging him to do so—he personally wanted to take German—but finally, he decided to give in and let them put him into the most "challenged" class. Which meant that he had to moderate the smokers, druggies, and whores of the school.

Christophe sat alone, as per usual. In his peripheral vision, he was disgusted to see a bleached-blonde girl making out with some random guy. Christophe never remembered their names, he never cared enough to remember them. Nor did he keep up with the gossip that seemed to ceaselessly spurt out of his peers' mouths. It was disgusting and ridiculous to Christophe. These people didn't have anything better to do. All they did, every single day, every fucking waking moment of their lives, was talk about other people's personal lives. He sighed in annoyance as the couple next to him let out a rather loud moan. He glanced around the room, looking at the stupid—for lack of better word—people surrounding him. One of the guys was chatting up a girl, attempting desperately to speak French, or something like it. Christophe scoffed at the gibberish that came out of his mouth. It almost made him want to snap—the fact that these people didn't care enough to learn French, and yet they still attempted to speak it.

Instantly, Christophe thought of Damien. Damien was taking Latin, but yet he still thought he knew French. Though Christophe would admit, the Royal Ass was pretty good at the language, he was angry at the thought that Damien wouldn't bother to take an actual class of something he wanted to learn.

Then, Christophe began to think about Damien physically—his soft, perfectly-spiked black hair, that pale, perfect skin, those magical hands that soothed his back pain so well, those red eyes that seemed to glisten whenever he was feeling intense emotion,

Suddenly, Christophe jolted—he realized what he was thinking about, with the aid of the slimy spitball that hit him square in the back of the head. He hated Damien.

...Didn't he? Suddenly, Christophe wasn't so sure. And that made him even more angry.

He turned around quickly when the spitball hit his head, and saw a couple boys waving at him and snickering. Christophe shot them a glare and returned to face the teacher, who was, to Christophe's dismay, oblivious to what was going on in her classroom.

As if this day couldn't get any worse, he looked over at the boy sitting in next to him. His head was lolled back and a soft snore escaped from him.

Christophe felt himself let out a low, frustrated growl.

He turned back to the couple, who had just let ut another moan. The boy had his hands up the girl's shirt.

Christophe snapped.

**_"ASSEZ!" _**he bellowed. The sleeping boy awoke with a loud snort. The snickering boys in the back snapped their heads back towards the Frenchman, and the couple broke away. Everyone stared at him, expectantly.

"_Vous etes tous les cons!"_ he yelled at the class. He then looked over at the now-awake boy, whose eyes were wide with fear.

"_Hey, paresseux! Reveille- toi, on est dans l'ecole, pas dans nos lits!"_ he shouted. The boy nodded, even though he had no idea what the French boy was saying. By now, the teacher had finally noticed that something was wrong and turned around, but Christophe didn't care.

The French boy, not bothering to control the words that flew out of his mouth, then addressed the couple.

"_Et toi! Place votres mains sur les nichons d'une fille qui est pas une super pute!" _he growled. The girl must've understood, because she stomped up to Christophe angrily and slapped him straight across the face, right on the welt that had been placed on Christophe's face the day before. The Frenchman winced in pain as he felt the wound open up, but then did something he would never do—he approached the teacher.

"_Et toi! Fait attention de ta classe, pour changer! Chaques jour, c'est toujours comme ca!" _Christophe motioned at the group of uncaring kids surrounding him.

_"Et c'est toujours sur moi pour arretez tous le monde!_ _Je ne peux plus faire ca chaque jours. C'est votre responsibilite, pas le miens!" _Christophe finished. By now, the Frenchman's face was sweaty and his hands were balled up into fists. The teacher just stared at the brunette, mouth agape. Christophe glared right back at her, before getting sick of it all and stomping out of the room, but not letting out a Craig-Tucker-worthy _"BAISEZ VOUS TOUS! "_

Christophe's worn combat boots clomped down the linoleum hallway loudly as he stormed away. The French boy felt the need for nicotine course through his veins, so he stepped outside for a cigarette. He hadn't ever ditched class before, he realized. But he needed to, this time. He deserved it. Those kids were driving him insane. He angrily yanked a cancer stick out of the box he always carried and searched for his lighter, when he realized he didn't have it on him. Christophe sighed and took a deep breath, hoping somehow the smoke-free air would give him equal satisfaction. Suddenly, he felt the cigarette in his hand burn. He turned around and saw Damien looming over him, a grin on his face.

"What are you doeeng 'ere?" Christophe growled. The last thing he needed right now was more of the Antichrist's stupid games.

Damien shrugged, taking a seat on the steps next to Christophe.

"I heard a French voice yelling. No one can speak French that well, but you. So I followed you out here." he said quietly.

"Eef you do anyzing, Damien, I swear—" Christophe warned.

"Relax, _princesse. _I'm not gonna play any games...for now." he added that last part with his signature smirk.

Christophe took a drag.

"So what got you so pissed off?" Damien asked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Ma vie est la merde."_ Christophe muttered in response, breathing out a cloud of smoke. Damien merely chuckled, an amused glint igniting his crimson gaze.

"I know how you feel. Living in Hell isn't exactly peachy, either." Damien replied, rolling his eyes. "Can I have one?"

Christophe fished out a cigarette reluctantly and handed it to the Antichrist. He couldn't believe this. First, he was thinking about his worst enemy, now he was...smoking with him?

He watched Damien lazily flick an ember from his fingers onto the cigarette curiously. He wouldn't deny it, The Royal Ass' powers were pretty cool, to say the least.

"What's eet like?" Christophe asked, looking down at his boots. "_Dans l'enfer?"_

"It's...hot. And miserable. The sound of tortured souls really makes you sick." Damien replied, playing with the symbol on his pendant. "But it's what makes me feel at home, y'know? The sounds of screaming. Which is pretty much why I like Satanic music. It feels like I'm back there."

Christophe nodded, trying to mask the feeling that came over him. Damien and him were speaking to each other...normally. He didn't really know why, but he couldn't help but enjoy the company of the Antichrist. After Damien spoke, an awkward silence ensued. Damien didn't really know what to say—the Frenchman seemed depressed, and there didn't really seem like there was anything he could do.

Christophe frowned as he felt an unfamiliar sensation sweep through him. He felt like there was something stuck in his throat, and he couldn't get it out. He coughed quietly, trying to rid himself of the feeling, but it stayed. He realized, to his horror, that there was a small drop of water falling down his cheek.

No. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't. Not in front of Damien.

But Damien saw. The raven longed to wipe those tears away from that handsome face, but he didn't. He stood there, and, before he could react, words flew out of his mouth.

"You're crying. Wow. Look at that, you really are French, aren't you?" Damien spat out, the venom returning to his voice. Christophe continued to look down, the tears silently continuing to stream down his cheeks, one by one. It made him even more dejected. The quick, small bond between the two boys faded in the blink of an eye. All because of stupid fucking God, making him cry.

"Be sure to grow a pair of balls sometime, _princesse._" Damien smirked.

Christophe couldn't take all of it. He only could do so much before he completely broke. That growl began to rise in his throat again. Damien loved that growl. So animalistic, so untamable. It made Christophe look free, which was different from all the damned souls he had tortured while in Hell.

"Ah, the French." the Antichrist kept speaking, even though his mind told him no, no, no.

"With their bicycles and cheese. The baguettes and striped shirts...such a great country."

All those cliches made Christophe's growl get louder.

"And who couldn't love the mustaches and berets?" Damien added softly. And then, there was a few seconds of silence—pure silence. A pin drop could've been heard.

Then, Christophe lunged out at Damien, clawing and punching and kicking anything he could reach. Damien fell to the ground, surprised. In looking at the French boy's face, he noticed that he was still crying. He tried to kick Christophe off him, but it was no use. The brunette had him pinned down.

Christophe's rage had finally been released. All of his internal struggle throughout the day was being poured out for Damien to see. But then Christophe realized. It wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough just to kick and punch and cry.

He needed something more.

So Christophe did something he never would do.

He dug out his pocket knife, flicked it open, and held it to Damien's throat.

The Antichrist's red eyes widened in panic, and the smirk across his face fell.

"Don't...speak." Christophe mumbled. Damien obeyed, silent.

For once, the Frenchman had the Antichrist under his control.

And it felt good.

**Christophe kicks serious ass. I loved writing this chapter!**

**French Stuff (a lot of it!)**

**ASSEZ! - Enough!**

**"****_Vous etes tous les cons!"_****- You are all idiots!**

**"****_Hey, paresseux! Reveille- toi, on est dans l'ecole, pas dans nos lits!"_****- Hey, lazy! Wake up, we're in school, not in bed!**

**"****_Et toi! Place votres mains sur les nichons d'une fille qui est pas une super pute!"_**** - And you! Place your hands on the tits of a girl who isn't a super bitch!**

**"****_Et toi! Fait attention de ta classe, pour changer! Chaques jour, c'est toujours comme ca!"_****- And you! Pay attetntion to your class, for a change! Every day, it's always like this!**

**_"Et c'est toujours sur moi pour arretez tous le monde!_****_Je ne peux plus faire ca chaque jours. C'est votre responsibilite, pas le miens!"- _****And it's always on me to stop everyone! I cannot do this every day. It's your responsibility, not mine!**

**_"BAISEZ VOUS TOUS! "_**** - FUCK YOU ALL!**

**"****_Ma vie est la merde."_****- My life is shit.**

**"****_Dans l'enfer?"_**** - In Hell?**

**Be sure to review and favorite and stuff! I love all of you, just for reading. Just wanted you to know that. :D**


	6. Chapter 6 - Surprise

**Hey guys! Sorry for not updating, I've been really busy lately. But hey, now it's vacation. Which means that I'm going to write a lot more. Which means that this story will probably be finished by the time vacation's over! So, to make up for the wait, here's an extremely long chapter!**

**-M**

Damien was startled to see the knife in Christophe's hands. It actually made him afraid of the brunette, for the shortest time. But he set the emotion aside, as he always did. Christophe wouldn't actually kill him. They needed each other. To keep life interesting.

"Go ahead." he growled at the Frenchman. "Slice me."

Christophe's frown faltered. Was Damien challenging him? He wasn't going to back out of this. He couldn't, he didn't want Damien to think he was a pussy. So he held the knife closer to the raven's throat, so that the blade and the pale skin touched.

Christophe's hands shook, much to his dismay. But he kept the knife there, hesitating.

Damien's eyes were wide again after his small outburst. Wide and red and...desperate. Then, they relaxed, trying to keep calm, but Christophe could see it—the panic was still there, but hidden.

"Christophe." Damien whispered, his voice hoarse. "Drop the knife."

Christophe didn't comply. His knuckles had blanched from his tight grip on the knife.

"Drop. It." Damien said again, frowning. Christophe got even more angry. He didn't like being treated like some dog.

But, looking into Damien's crimson eyes, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Sighing, he dropped the weapon and ran a flustered hand through his brown hair. Damien exhaled, trying to get over what just happened.

"Trust me, Damien. Eef you ever talk like zat again, I weel do eet." Christophe said, staring daggers at the Antichrist.

Damien, for once, was speechless. He slowly nodded.

"And no one ees going to find out, _oui?" _Christophe asked, a warning look on his face. Damien shook his head, almost hypnotized by the brunette's stony hazel gaze.

Christophe stepped closer to Damien, his voice low and, to Damien, sadistic.

"Very good. Now let's get out of 'ere. We 'ave a project to work on."

Damien finally regained consciousness and spoke, grinning. "Your wish is my command."

Christophe growled a bit at the comment and turned to walk back into the school. Damien watched him and followed, a calculating look on his face. That boy made him feel want and fear at the same time. He wanted that sexy voice as his. He wanted those hazel eyes. Hell, he even wanted that knife, just because Christophe held it in his large, strong hands.

But it would be tough. Christophe was always alone, and he didn't care about what his peers said. But he sure was missing out on much, because he was usually the subject of the girls' banter. Yep, with those eyes and that amazing voice, he was the love interest of many girls—and some guys, too. Damien concluded that his competition was the McCormick kid, the one that could get anyone he wanted, any time he wanted. Even Kenny could break through Christophe's tough exterior, Damien knew.

But Christophe wasn't going to let Kenny near him. Damien knew that for a fact.

Silently, he followed the Frenchman until they split apart to go to their lockers. He grabbed his items haphazardly, not really paying attention—or caring, for that matter—to what he was doing.

"So, where are we goeeng?" Christophe asked Damien after meeting him outside the school. People did double takes when they saw the cynical Frenchman and the cocky Antrichrist next to each other and not attacking one another.

"Well, it's not really like you'd want to go to my place." Damien told him, looking down at his black combat boots. It was embarrassing, knowing that he had nowhere else to go but the depths of Hell.

"But I do." Christophe murmured, interrupting Damien's thoughts with his soft but firm voice. "I would really like to see your 'ouse, Damien."

Damien raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because I am curious." Christophe retorted, regaining his guarded expression. "Ees zat a problem?"

"Not at all." Damien grinned. To Christophe, it looked like his usual cocky smirk. But Damien felt genuinely happy. He thought this day would never come. "Here, take my hand."

Christophe glared at Damien in disgust.

"Do you want to see my house or not?" Damien asked, his voice low.

Christophe rolled his eyes and reluctantly took the Antichrist's hand. It was warm and firm, but soft. Like his voice. Damien cleared his head, and thought only of where he lived—the tortured souls, the sounds of screaming from far away, Saddam Hussein—he thought of home.

While this was happening, Christophe looked around him in awe as his surroundings began to fade away, replaced by patches of fire and gravelly, rocky ground. He was in Hell.

Again.

Christophe's mouth turned up in an almost-smile as he remembered what had happened. He hadn't told a soul, and decided he never would.

Christophe was in third grade when he died, while helping three other boys that still went to his school. He had decided to erase them from his life after the incident. Those fucking guard dogs had attacked him due to the fat boy's stupidity, and he had died in the redhead's arms. He remembered choking out his last breath, his final words still on the tip of his tongue. Then, he saw nothing but black, forever and ever, it seemed. Then, finally, he felt himself falling, at a pace that seemed impossible. His vision warped and swirled around him as he fell, making the experience all the more terrifying. He wanted to scream and shout, but he could only feel his consciousness with him, and not his body. Finally, he hit the ground with a thump and felt the weight of himself come back to him. Shakily, he stood up, looking around at where he was. There were others near him—ones that were chained up by their ankles and wrists, screaming and dripping blood. It was disturbing to Christophe, as he was only eight years old at the time. So, he did what any small child did. Christophe, for once in his life, panicked. He screamed for help, for someone, anyone. But there was no answer—that is, not counting the screams of the damned. Christophe finally gave up, crumpling to the ground in a distraught heap. He jolted when something warm touched his shoulder.

"Looking for a way out?" asked a soft, high-pitched voice.

Christophe turned, looking straight into the red eyes of a much younger, much smaller Damien.

"_Ou suis-je?" _Christophe asked, his hazel eyes wide with shock at looking into Damien's crimson red ones.

Damien, not knowing French at the time, just gave Christophe a puzzled glance.

"You're in Hell." he said quietly.

"_L'enfer? Je suis mort? Oh, non! Non! Je veux retourner!"_ Christophe then realized that what the small boy had said was true. The fact that it was hell explained all of the flames and tortured souls everywhere.

"English, dude!" Damien exclaimed.

"I-I 'ave to go back 'ome. I'm too young to be 'ere. Mozer said so." Christophe pointed out, like having his mother say so was something that made the statement valid.

Though Damien was young and small, he was wiser than most.

"You can't get out." Damien said flatly, as if he'd said this about a billion time.

"Why?"

"Because my dad said so." he retorted with a sneer.

Christophe sighed in exasperation and sat on a rock absentmidedly, jumping away after realizing it was scorching hot. Damien laughed.

"'ho is your dad?" Christophe asked, his face getting red, and not from the heat of the rock.

"Satan." Damien replied, obviously bored of the conversation.

"Let me see 'im. Maybe I can ask 'im to let e out." Christophe looked Damien in the eye, trying to sound brave.

"No." the black-haired boy said.

"Why not?" Christophe glared.

"Because." Damien crossed his arms, scowling.

Christophe gave him a look of warning. Damien sighed.

"Look. The damned can't get out of this place. It's Satanic rules, Bible stuff, blah blah blah." the Antichrist said, waving away the comment, deciding it wasn't worth finishing.

"So...I'm stuck 'ere?" Christophe asked softly, looking down at the rocky ground, scuffing at it with his foot.

"Yep. Sorry, dude." Damien shrugged, turning to walk away.

"Christophe." the other boy growled so Damien could hear. The raven turned back to face him.

"What?"

"My name is Christophe." the French boy said again.

Damien nodded. "I'm Damien." he said, feeling obligated to tell the brunette his name, too.

"Well, zanks for notheeng, Damien. I'm stuck 'ere for eternity." Christophe's voice cracked at the last word as the lump in his throat overpowered him. He let the tears flow, even though he was strongly against the idea.

Damien frowned at the sight of the young boy sobbing, and then walked away, eager to find his father.

And, well, there he was. Back on Earth in a matter of minutes.

It was a miracle. It almost made Christophe believe in God.

Almost.

"Hello? Are you coming?" Damien asked, waving a pale hand in front of Christophe's unmoving face. The Frenchman awoke from his daydream and followed Damien into a large cave that was lighted with many torches. The flames danced, creating peculiar shadows on the cave's walls. Christophe could see the shadow of a sort of barrier ahead, then realizing it was the front of Damien's house.

"Wow." he muttered quietly, hoping Damien wouldn't hear.

But the Antichrist did. He tried to hide the smirk, so as not to ruin the moment.

"Here we are." Damien said as they made it up to the front door. It was a bit odd to the brunette—seeing an ordinary door embedded into dark igneous rock.

Damien opened the door, and when Christophe looked in he was surprised to see a rather normal house. The kitchen was made of wood and sleek marble, and the leather couch sat in front of a medium sized television.

The only thing that wasn't normal, though, was the gigantic demon lounging on the piece of furniture, a man at his side, looking small in comparison.

"DAD! I'M HOME!" Damien shouted at the red entity. He turned his head to look at the two boys.

"And you brought a friend! How wonderful!" the demon, who Christophe recognized as Satan, exclaimed in a low but warm voice.

"Yeah, he's here for a project. We're gonna go upstairs and work on it." Damien threw over his shoulder as he went up the stairs, Christophe following suit.

"Okay, let me know if you need anything, sweetie!" Christophe couldn't help but laugh as Satan's reply.

"What's so funny, Frenchy?" Damien asked, frowning. On the inside, though, he was almost melting at the sound of the Frenchman's almost harmonious laugh.

"Nozing." Christophe replied, holding in another peal of laughter. "Just ze irony zat Satan ees supposed to be ze most evil being in ze universe, but he seems like a great man."

Damien couldn't help but crack a smile. "I guess it's pretty funny."

Christophe then observed Damien's room. It was spotlessly clean, and there were many bookshelves filled with titles written in Latin, Greek, and, to his surprise, French. Damien's bed had red and black patterned sheets that were smoothed out flawlessly, matching perfectly to his eyes. His desk, however, was a different story. There were papers everywhere. Some, from Christophe's knowledge, were covered in Damien's spiky handwriting. Others were pictures. Of what, Christophe just didn't know. Disregarding the desk and his curiosity, Christophe sat down on the bed, taking out a posterboard he'd obtained and a pencil.

"Here, I'll write the heading." Damien said, grabbing the pencil out of Christophe's hands. Christophe let him—Damien's handwriting would definitely stand out for captions.

"Fran-ci-um. The m-ost re-active substance of the Per-iodic Ta-ble." Damien drawled out as he wrote the heading in large bubble letters. Christophe couldn't help but observe the way Damien's bangs fell over his eyes when he leaned down to write, or the way that his forked tongue showed slightly from between his teeth as he wrote.

The rest of the workday was uneventful. The two boys finished the poster without much difficulty.

"Wow. Eet looks good." Christophe noted, looking at their finished product.

"Yeah. We did a good job." Damien replied absentmindedly. "We make...a good team."

"_Oui."_ Christophe agreed quietly, curiousity taking over as he made his way over to Damien's desk.

"_C'est quoi?"_ he asked, motioning to the papers.

"Oh, I write poems." Damien said, looking over the papers.

"What about?" Christophe asked. He wasn't one for poetry. He would never admit that he was deep—he didn't want to be a pussy.

"I'm not really sure, exactly." Damien shrugged, picking up one of the papers, skimming over the words. "I like dark poetry."

Dark poetry. Christophe had heard of that. Some of it was pure bullshit, but some of it made him think. Made him wonder things he would've taken for granted otherwise.

"Can I read one?" Christophe asked softly.

"If you want." Damien replied, shrugging. He was nervous, he knew that Christophe wasn't one to express his feelings much.

Christophe gently took the paper from Damien's hands and read over the words on the page. The way they flowed into each other with ease reminded him of the Antichrist's smooth, silky voice. The way the syllables seemed to see right through him, see everything he was thinking, reminded Christophe of Damien's red eyes.

As he finished the poem, he looked into the raven's eyes. They were hopeful.

"Did you like it?" Damien asked. Was that a hint of _shyness _in his voice?

Christophe set the paper down and nodded.

"Eet was probably ze best theeng I 'ave ever read." he mumured, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to savor the words he'd just read like they were a gourmet dessert. He didn't want that poem to end, didn't want Damien's words to stop. He imagined what it would be like to have Damien whisper them softly in his ear...

Christophe's eyes snapped back open.

Damien was staring at him, a quizzical look on his face.

"What are ze pictures?" Christophe motioned to the pictures of who-knows-what scattered over the table.

"Oh, those?" Damien asked, holding one up and chuckling at it. "I draw mental disorders."

Christophe raised an eyebrow.

"I think it's interesting to draw something that can't actually take form. It's like I _invent _their form. It's all up to me." Damien explained.

Christophe nodded, taking one of the pictures in his hands. It was labeled with _Multiple Personality Disorder_ on the back. The picture was made up of jagged lines with intense color differences. They went from a bright yellow to a dark cobalt blue in one stroke. It seemed like it was a perfect representation of the mental problem. It was beautiful, in a twisted kind of way.

"Zis is great." Christophe muttered under his breath.

"Thank you." Damien smiled in a way that seemed triumphant. "Do you do any kind of art?"

"Well, I—" Christophe began. "I try to." he finished quietly.

"You try to?" Damien asked, stepping closer to the French boy.

"Yes."

"How does it turn out?" Damien took another step closer.

"I don't want to talk about eet." Christophe looked him in the eye.

That smirk played across the Antichrist's lips. "Oh, but I do." Another step.

This time, Christophe smirked right back, not quite knowing what was coming over him. "Well, I don't?"

"Why?" Another step. One more and it would be an official invasion of personal space.

"Because I said so." Christophe said softly, grinning. He knew that this would make Damien remember that day when they were young children.

"You, or your mom?" Damien purred, his voice low and sickly sweet. He took another step closer. Christophe didn't push him away. He could feel the other's body heat radiating onto him. Their chests were both pressed together. Christophe's grin grew wider as he realized that Damien's heart was beating very, very fast. But then, he realized that his own heart was hammering, echoing in his ears and pounding in every part of his body.

Then he felt it stop as those red eyes glinted and Damien closed the distance between them. His lips were warm and soft, immediately biting Christophe's lower lip mercilessly. It was almost painful, but Christophe couldn't help but feel pleasure mixing with the adrenaline that was already coursing through his body. Damien's hands were snaking around his waist, puling them closer together in an almost harsh manner. Christophe's rough, calloused hands found their way into Damien's jet-black hair. The feeling of the French boy's hands in his hair made Damien feel like he had finally made it to heaven, though he knew it wasn't possible.

He also realized that this wasn't possible.

It couldn't be _real._ This couldn't be happening.

One in his right mind would let this continue. A sane man would let the dream go on, if it even was a dream, and savor every moment of it. A sane man wouldn't care if the person that was making him feel paradise was real or not—it was only the feeling that mattered.

But Damien wasn't in his right mind.

So, in the span of one second, he broke away, snapped his fingers, and sent Christophe back to Earth.

**French Stuff**

**"****_Ou suis-je?"_**** - Where am I?**

**"****_L'enfer? Je suis mort? Oh, non! Non! Je veux retourner!"_****- Hell? I'm dead? Oh, no! No! I want to go back!**

**"****_C'est quoi?"_****- What is it?**

**A quick note about the French stuff-I'm not going to put repeats in, so if you see words or phrases that haven't been translated in the chapter, it just means that I've already translated them in another chapter.**

**If you can, review! I love it when people comment on my stuff :)**


	7. Chapter 7 - Comparison

**Here's chapter 7! I can't believe I've made it all the way here already. Holy crap. So yeah, unfortunately, this one's sort of a filler, but some of the stuff is important for the next chapter, which is going to be one of the most important in the story. Also, there isn't any French in this chapter, or that much dialogue, for that matter. Sorry...but seriously. It's important for the next part, which is going to be interesting.**

**-M**

The following day, it was as if nothing had happened. Christophe and Damien seemed to make an agreement, a silent decision not to talk about the incident of yesterday. They simply acted as if it never occurred.

But, the thing was, neither of the two boys wanted to forget the kiss. And neither of them knew that the other felt the same way.

Christophe tore himself apart. His mind was someplace else throughout the whole day, wishing he could go back to that incident and relive it. It was so confusing, feeling these new emotions he'd never felt before. Christophe couldn't hold it back any more—he was, indeed, addicted to Damien Thorn, much to his discontent.

Damien had came to that realization months before the Frenchman did, and the moment they shared the day before only increased his want for the brunette. He wouldn't settle for just that. Damien wanted more, and fast. He was getting impatient. He couldn't wait for much longer.

After an agonizing day at school, Christophe trudged home alone. He and Damien were ahead of their project, giving them a perfectly valid excuse for them not to see each other. It was a great relief for Christophe, and another obstacle for Damien, making his patience run thin and his frustration rise.

Christophe lay on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, thinking about what to write. He needed to turn this essay in the next day, and, with all the surprise of yesterday, he hadn't started yet. But it was difficult to think. He was still numb.

So his mind began to wander. He thought about Damien some more—his hungry eyes, his fluffy hair, his tall physique, those wicked, addictive lips...

Christophe couldn't take it anymore. He frowned and tugged at his messy brown hair, exasperated. He had to find an outlet, to release all of his emotion. Then he remembered Damien's dark, cryptic poetry. Sighing, he took out a blank sheet of lined paper and a pen, and began scribbling down everything that was on his mind, pouring out all of his emotions onto the paper until it was drenched with words.

Meanwhile, Damien worked on his newest work of art. He had done many portrayals of mental disorders—OCD, scizophrenia, depression, and panic disorders naming only a few—but now he was doing something different—anorexia.

The whole thing, he knew, was metaphorical. He was deprived of something he needed desperately. He was the skeleton, starving himself to death. Without quick action, he would eventually crumble into a pile of skin and bones. Though he knew that he would disintegrate without the thing—the person—he wanted so much, he kept pushing it away, or it pushed him away. He had to take action. And fast.

Christophe stared at the paper, mortified and impressed, all at the same time. If anyone read this, he would be done for. Slowly, he read over the words again. The words that Damien would never hear. The words that were for his eyes, and his eyes only. Christophe looked around for a place to hide the paper, folding it up into a small, neat wad. He decided that the back of his messy desk drawer would be appropriate. Looking at the folded paper one last time, Christophe then shoved it into the drawer and sighed. Now that that was over, it was finally time to get to his English paper.

Damien felt his pencil break for the second time as it pressed down into the paper. He sighed and got up to sharpen it, getting a glance from the other students. It was the third time this had happened in this class. He shot his peers a glare and sharpened his pencil again.

"Mr. Thorn, do you need another pencil?" he heard the teacher ask. He didn't even respond to the comment, just returned to his seat and wrote his notes, trying hard not to let his pencil break again.

"You see, kids, the Persian army was about ten times larger than the Greeks..."

Damien tuned out his professor's lecture on the Persian and Greek wars and looked around the class at his classmates, trying not to let his eyes fall on the person he really did want to look at. Beside him, the blond coffee kid was twitching and getting eye-raped by a skyscraper that was sitting in the back of the class with his friends, who were snickering. He showed them his middle finger and continued to glance over at the nervous boy. Damien guessed that Twitch—or whatever the coffee kid's name was—knew what was happening, because his eyes widened and his face turned red. When he saw Damien looking at him, he screamed "DON'T SEND ME TO HELL!" and cowered, covering his face with his open textbook. The teacher shot Coffee Boy a look, then turned back to the board and scribbled down a note for the students to write down. Damien rolled his eyes and looked elsewhere, his eyes finding Kenny McCormick passing a note to Kyle Broflovski, one of his best friends. Damien despised Broflovski. He was too uptight. Too prissy. He then looked over at Christophe, who was sitting a few seats in front of him. The brunette and the redhead were complete opposites. Kyle's features, such as his hair and eyes, were extremely saturated, colorful to the point where it almost hurt Damien—who was used to all black, all the time—to look at the Jewish boy. Christophe, however, was way less exaggerated. His dark hair and tanned skin didn't create that much contrast, unlike that of Broflovski's extremely red locks and his pale, freckled face.

Christophe could almost feel Damien's eyes burning into the back of his head. It was second nature to when whether or not the Antichrist was staring at him, after being tormented by him so much over the years. Christophe almost felt like Damien knew about the confession he had written down and stowed away, for no one to see. He then began to worry—could Damien read his mind? It was a ridiculous thought—but who knew? Maybe, with his odd Satanic powers, it could happen. Then, Christophe waved the thought away. If Damien could read his mind, things would be much, much worse than what they already were, if that was possible.


	8. Chapter 8 - Addiction

**Chapter eight! WOOT WOOT! This took me a looooongggg time to write, so don't eat me. This story will be complete in a chapter or two, to tie up the loose strings and stuff. Don't worry, I have another story in mind. It might be a oneshot, but it might not ;) I'm not telling you the pairing, because I'm evil. It'll be slash, though. Heh heh. Okay, enjoy the chapter!**

**-M**

"Let's get zis over wiz." Christophe muttered, opening the door to his house. Damien followed silently.

The pair had almost completed their Francium project. All they had to do was color in the poster. Damien wasn't much a fan of color, as was Christophe—the two boys decided on black and red as their main colors. As Christophe took out the rolled-up poster from his bag, Damien searched his room for markers.

"Stupeed piece of sheet." Christophe grumbled, attempting to smooth out the posterboard that kept rolling itself back up.

Damien made his way to the Frenchman's desk, opening the drawers in frustration.

"You have to organize yourself, _princesse._" Damien murmured, looking in disgust at the cluttered drawer. He dug around for a while, trying to find a writing untensil to use. Most of Christophe's stuff was notebooks from previous grades, discarded labs and project papers from long ago, all marked with one letter—_A._ One of them, however wasn't a project paper.

It was a small paper, folded up into fourths.

Curious, Damien slowly took the paper out of the drawer, chuckling quietly as Christophe taped the corners of the poster to the floor so they wouldn't roll up, muttering profanities. He unfolded the paper, surprised to see Christophe's handwriting scrawled all across it. He began to read.

_I cannot torture myself any longer. I cannot just sit here and disregard everything that has happened. The endless torment is almost unbearable, except for the fact that it is inflicted upon me by the most angelic being I have ever seen. Many think that he's a demon. His appearance fools them. But I am no fool. I can see right through his looks and into his soul. There is almost nothing there. Which is why I'm drawn to him. We are soulless, him and I. It's sickening to think about. The only person that I do enjoy being around is the one who makes my life so miserable. But I guess that's how it goes. After a while, you can't imagine life without pain. Without demons. They are the things that make this world whole. Without demons, we would be devoid of purpose. We wouldn't fight for what we believed in. Which is why I must admit—I love hating Damien Thorn. Because he makes my world go round._

Damien did a double take. Christophe DeLorne, the cynical, God-hating French mercenary that never bothered to show any type of kindness to anyone, wrote something deep. Damien felt drawn to Christophe's choppy, unorganized sentences. They seemed to match his personality.

"Damien, I got ze poster ta—" Christophe cut himself off as he turned to see Damien holding the paper he had tried so hard to hide. The Frenchman's face got a few shades paler and a cold sweat erupted on his forehead.

"Where deed you find zat?" he asked, voice shaky.

"I was looking for some colored pencils or something, and I..." Damien trailed off.

"No one was supposed to see zat." Christophe whispered, almost inaudibly.

Damien felt his heartbeat pound in his ears. He stepped closer to Christophe, his curiosity overcoming his initial shock.

"Tell me." he said softly. "Was that true?" his signature grin crawled across his face again.

Christophe didn't answer. His mind was too foggy, too confused. Damien couldn't have seen that. If he did, his life would be over. He would never hear the end of it. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening.

"_Dis-moi, Christophe. Est-que tu reves de moi?"_ Damien purred, wrapping his arms around the French boy's waist.

Christophe jolted at the sudden contact, earning a dark laugh from Damien.

Finally, he had enough air in his lungs to speak.

_"Chaques nuit. Mais je ne peux pas controler mes reves."_ he said softly. Did he seriously tell that secret to Damien?

"Remember when we were eight, and you came for a...visit?" Damien said, an almost wicked tone to his voice. To Christophe, it was extremely sexy. He felt the Antichrist's chin on his shoulder.

"Remember when you cried?"

Christophe's expression went cold. This day couldn't get worse.

"And remember when you cried a couple days ago, after that little outburst you had in French class?" Damien's smirk faltered at the memory of the tears silently rolling down the brunette's cheeks.

"It was because of me. Both of those times, wasn't it?" he murmured, looking down. He felt guilt start to make its way through his chest.

Christophe nodded, frowning.

"_Je te deteste, Damien. Mais je ne peux pas obtenir assez de toi_." Christophe said in a way that made Damien's heart hammer against his ribs.

Slowly, the Antichrist leaned in and pressed his lips to Christophe's jaw. The Frenchman didn't object. He felt himself exhale as Damien moved his lips down his neck and back up again, occasionally sucking and leaving small marks.

Christophe needed his drug. Now.

Suddenly, he spun around so that he was facing Damien, and yanked him forward by his Antichrist pendant, crushing their lips together. Damien's red eyes were wide for a moment, then he relaxed as Christophe's slightly chapped lips moved harmoniously against his own. Damien put his hands on the small of the Frenchman's back, pulling him closer. The kiss was aggressive and angst-ridden, both boys finally letting their anger out on one another. Christophe's hands were tugging at Damien's thick black hair harshly. Damien felt Christophe's tongue tracing over his teeth. Christophe let out a slight noise when he ran it over the Antichrist's canines, which were very sharp. Damien's snakelike tongue savored the taste of blood in his mouth. Christophe broke away first, attacking the Antichrist's neck. It was his turn to be the controller. After years of doing whatever the Royal Ass told him to do, it was time for him to take the wheel. He bit down hard, earning a high-pitched yelp from Damien. Christophe smirked at Damien's girlish response.

"Zis is what you get." he mumbled, roughly kissing the other boy's neck.

Damien loved the feeling, but he wasn't going to let Christophe have all the glory. He pushed Christophe backward, landing on the floor with a thump.

"You're not having all the fun." he growled between kisses. Christophe usually found the whole dominance thing with Damien annoying, but now, while they were making out on the floor, it seemed seductive.

"Zat's what you zink, _princesse."_ Christophe smirked. He understood why Damien loved calling him that so much. It felt good. It felt like he had control. He grabbed Damien's shoulders and twisted him so that he was on top now, locking Damien's lips with his. The passion between the two burned like fire, almost radiating through the room. Christophe grabbed Damien's wrists and held them up over the raven's head, trapping him. Damien felt a growl rise in his throat. He was the one who chained his victims, not the other way around. He struggled against Christophe's iron grip, but all that did was deepen the kiss between them. Their tongues lashed out against one another aggressively, the want growing between them. Christophe tasted like smoke, Damien noticed as he explored the Frenchman's mouth. The flavor reminded him of home.

Christophe was reluctant to be dominated by Damien in any way, shape, or form, so he forced the Antichrist's lips open by biting on his lip as hard as he could. Damien gasped and Christophe slid his tongue into the other boy's mouth, grinning. Damien tasted minty and, for lack of better word, sharp.

Damien finally broke away, gasping. His red eyes were gleaming with want and that sadistic smile was on his face.

"_Tu est mon drogue."_ he said, taking a breath.

"Yeah, yeah." Christophe said, eyes narrowing. Damien's cheeks were getting warmer. "Enough of zat romantic sheet, drama queen. Now move your ass, weel you? You're seeting on ze poster."

**French Stuff :D**

**"****_Dis-moi, Christophe. Est-que tu reves de moi?"_**** - Tell me, Christophe. Do you dream of me?**

**_"Chaques nuit. Mais je ne peux pas controler mes reves."_**** - Every night, but I cannot control my dreams.**

**"****_Je te deteste, Damien. Mais je ne peux pas obtenir assez de toi_****." - I hate you, Damien. But I can't get enough of you.**

**"****_Tu est mon drogue."_**** - You are my drug**

**Short chapter, but stuff happened. Sorry, I kinda fail at writing makeout sessions. Oh, well.**

**I wrote 2 chapters in one day! Life is amazing sometimes. Well, I'll probably do another one tomorrow, then start on the oneshot.**

**Yeah, I have no life... :D**

**Be sure to review and stuff. I love it when you guys tell me what's on your minds.**


	9. Chapter 9 - Denial

**Okay, I lied. This story might go on for a while longer. I just want to thank every single last one of you, just for reading this. It means an awful lot to me that you guys like my writing. All my friends at school say I'm a good writer, but since I don't know any of you and you're saying that, it means a lot more. I love my readers, every single one of them. Okay, emo time is over. Let's get to the goods!**

**...Awkward. Okay, I'm going now.**

The days that followed were what Christophe considered both the best and worst of his life. He had endured many hardships—like assassinations, identity theft, and saving Canadians from the hands of a crazy Jewish woman—but none of those would compare to what he was going through. Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Christophe DeLorne was falling for Damien Thorn.

Hard.

He had tried to hide it for a while, but then, he decided: What was the point? Damien seemed pretty into him, he thought. There wasn't much purpose in concealing it anymore. Damien already knew.

Christophe thought about this as he entered school, his Francium poster under his arm and the Movie Maker presentation they had made on his battered laptop.

"You ready?" Damien asked, falling into step with Christophe.

"As I'll ever be." Christophe muttered. He wasn't one for presentations, so they had agreed to let Christophe to set up the technology and that Damien would do all the talking.

"Good." Damien grinned and entered the classroom, walking confidently ahead of the French boy. Reluctantly, Christophe sat, silently praying that they wouldn't have to go first.

"Alright! Everyone, take your seats!" the teacher clapped her hands sharply, making most of the kids sit bolt upright.

"Today is presentation day. You'll hook up your technology to the projector. First, show us the poster you made, then your digital media." she explained, scanning her class for her first victims.

"Token, Kenny. You boys go first." she said, motioning for them to come up to the front of the room. Kenny let out an audible groan, and Token said nothing. He pulled out his sleek new Macbook from its case and Christophe felt a small pang of jealousy toward the rich boy.

As Kenny hooked up the projector, Christophe noticed Token staring down at the blonde. Damien must've noticed, too, because he shot the Frenchman a sly look from across the room.

"Okay, so we did Gold as our element." Token began, motioning to their poster. Christophe suppressed a snicker. Oh, the irony.

"Gold's chemical symbol is 'Au.'" Kenny added as he moved to the next boring detail.

Christophe drowned out their presentation. The words and letters were getting jumbled up in his head again. Mass, number, and weight all seemed the same to him.

The presentations droned on and on. Christophe stole a look at an equally bored Damien, who had a finger-gun to his temple.

"Christophe and Damien, you're up." the teacher said, obviously as bored as the other students.

Damien smirked. They were going to give their class a wake-up call, so to speak.

As Christophe keyed up their video, Damien began on their poster, which was rather crumpled due to their moment a few days prior.

"We did Francium." he began, letting the class skim over the information half-assedly.

"It's probably one of the rarest substances on Earth, and definitely one of the most dangerous." he continued, his voice lowering darkly, to add some sort of dramatic feel to the rather bland information. Christophe rolled his eyes, finally finding the damned video. He clicked PLAY and stepped out of the way.

At that moment, the classroom was bombarded with loud, low guitar riffs. Everyone jolted, and one girl screamed.

Damien laughed in a way that sounded almost evil, going along well with the loud, unforgiving music. He had convinced Christophe to play the song _Your Betrayal _ by Bullet For My Valentine in the background, to give their element some sort of interesting effect, that made their project stand out.

"It's atomic number is eighty-seven." the Antichrist said, during a short break in the music.

_Am I going insane?_

_My blood in pounding inside of my veins_

_An evil feeling attacks_

_My body's shaking, there's no turning back_

"It was discovered by Maguerite Perey, in the year of 1939, making it the most recently discovered natural element." Damien kept going, his voice smooth and flawless. It made Christophe uncomfortable, to say the least.

_Don' t take your eyes off the trigger_

_I'm not to blame if your world turns to black_

_As your eyes start to blister_

_There's just no hope for a final embrace_

The students' attention was completely taken by Damien and their loud, eye-catching video.

_So here we are..._

_I'm in your head..._

Damien kept telling the class bland, boring information disguised as something they'd need to know for the rest of their lives.

"And, if you put it in water..." Damien smirked, pausing to scream out in time to the music.

_I'M IN YOUR HEART!_

"BOOM!" Damien hollered, making the same girl scream again. Christophe chuckled, but inside he felt his stomach twist into a knot. Those lyrics were getting to him, for some reason. He stole a glance at the teacher, only to snap his head back, seeing the look of horror on her face.

Damien, however, was having a field day. His red eyes glistened in the light of the projector, and he looked as if he was a storyteller reciting a scary tale to young little kindergarteners on Halloween. Except, of course, ten times more horrific-looking and about ten times sexier, Christophe thought.

After a while, their presentation ended.

There was a long, awkward silence before Henrietta stood up and cheered.

"That. Was. Awesome." she muttered in her monotone, always-bored voice. But the smile on her face proved she was far from bored. "Great job, you guys."

Kenny then rose and whooped loudly, clapping. Christophe felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He mentally slapped himself. He didn't blush. Blushing was for pussies.

"...Very good, boys. Thank you." the teacher said after a while, speechless. Damien was grinning, a satisfied look on his face. Christophe sighed. He knew that, with the help of Damien's creepy voice and creepier music, they would surely fail this one.

"I think we nailed it." he whispered in Christophe's ear as he passed the French boy to get to his seat.

"Yeah. If our whole class were Goth, we would've aced this project." Christophe grumbled in response.

"God, you never like to have fun, do you?" Damien asked quizzically as he sat. Christophe rolled his eyes and took his seat, watching the next group set up, obviously shaken by the previous group's rather _electrifying _presentation.

Christophe thought for a moment. He enjoyed doing some activities—such as killing, fighting, and looking into the crimson irises of his new love interest. But _fun?_ No, Christophe didn't do fun.

Fun was for pussies.

Then again, he thought, he had never experienced fun. Had he? He had felt something—a twinge of adrenaline, perhaps? Christophe didn't know—through his veins when he wrestled Damien.

Or looked at Damien.

Or...kissed Damien?

Christophe's eyes narrowed. He may be falling for the Antichrist, but Damien wasn't going to be the "center of his world" or all that cliche romantic crap.

No. The center of his life was...

Suddenly. Christophe didn't know. Take Damien out of the equation, and there wasn't much else in his life. He had school, and his missions, and his family, but all three of those things were things he didn't really feel strongly for. He didn't feel anything whilst doing any school activities or missions. It was just mandatory stuff. Until the past few weeks, making Damien's life hell (no pun intended) was his one purpose in life.

So now what?

The Frenchman didn't know. And Christophe hated not knowing.

As class let out, Damien caught up with Christophe to talk to him.

"Why so serious, Frenchy?" he asked with a cocky smile on his face. The remark was like the ones he had said a while ago, but now lacking the venom behind it.

"_Ce n'est pas votre probleme. Laisse moi tranquille." _Christophe spat back as he slammed his locker and headed for his next class. Damien furrowed his brow. What was his issue?

Christophe didn't look back at Damien, hoping he would buy what he'd just said. Because the problem he was facing did involve Damien.

In fact, it involved him a little too much.

Christophe could accept that he liked Damien.

He could accept that Damien liked him.

He could accept that they'd probably fail their Science project.

However, he couldn't accept the fact that Damien was the most important thing in his life.

Christophe zombied through his classes sleepily until the end of the day finally came. He ditched his usual path—straight out of school, straight home—to go to the office. He grabbed a sheet from the main desk and looked over his options.

He was going to try to find something he was good at.

Something that would become the center of his life.

Christophe rejected each club or option—Football, too many jocks and unintelligent people. Too many girls. Poetry club. Poetry was for pussies. French club. Did that really need an explanation? Drama club. He couldn't act for his life.

Frustrated, he vetoed every option and crumpled up the paper in his now fisted hand, and strode out of the office, going home.

"What were you doing?" a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Christophe sighed. "Tryeeng to find somezing...fun to do." he said.

"Oh, so what I said before sunk in, huh?" Damien said, shifting so he stood in front of the slightly shorter Frenchman.

"I suppose." Christophe muttered under his breath.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"_Non. Il y a rien qui m'interesse."_ Christophe sighed.

"Why are you even looking into extra-curricular activities, anyway? You weren't into that kind of stuff before." Damien stated.

"Zere eesn't anyzing fun een my life zat I can do wizout you." Christophe said, looking down at his shoes.

Damien's eyes widened at the comment, but he disregarded it.

"So?"

Christophe frowned at Damien's dry response.

"So what?"

"So I'm the only fun thing in your life. Why is that such a bad thing?" Damien pointed out, taking Christophe's calloused hand in his own.

"Because..." Christophe began, then trailing off.

"See? There's nothing wrong with that. I'm not saying I won't make fun of you for that cliche, though..." Damien chuckled.

"Shut up. Why don't you try going on kill missions sometimes? It's not zat fun, you know. Watcheeng people die at your expense."

Damien scoffed. "I do that all the time. Do you think torturing souls doesn't bring on a ton of guilt? Because it does."

Christophe's eyes narrowed, and he looked back down at the floor. "Zen I guess we're even."

Damien's eyes softened as he looked at the sheepish-looking French boy in front of him.

He took the hand that wasn't holding Christophe's and tilted his chin up, so hazel eyes met red ones.

"Don't look down there. I want to see your face." Damien murmured.

The Antichrist was surprised, though, when the Frenchman's lips met his—softly.

Their kiss was gentle and passionate, and many stragglers still making their way out of school stared. Damien even heard the click of the shutter on an iPhone camera. But he didn't care. The only thing that mattered was Christophe.

The other boy broke away after a few moments, looking Damien straight in the eye, amusement etched into his tanned face.

"Zat was fun." he said, grinning in a way that was, in a way, seductive.

Damien couldn't help but think that that grin fit perfectly onto his face.

**French Stuff**

**"****_Ce n'est pas votre probleme. Laisse moi tranquille."_**** - It is not your problem. Leave me alone.**

**"****_Non. Il y a rien qui m'interesse."_**** - No. There's nothing that interests me.**

**They finally presented! Hooray! Sorry for the few days of not updating, I've been sick for the past couple days and have had a bit of writer's block. But being sick rocks, because now I can read and write fanfics ALL. DAY. LONG! :3**

**Reviewing makes me happy :D**


	10. Chapter 10 - Friendship

**I haven't written for this story for a while, and I'm really sorry for the wait. I've had a bit of writer's block. I'm not very fond of this chapter. I don't know why. But it's better than nothing, I guess. I'm sorry if it sucks. Again, MY MIND IS BLOCKED Dx**

The school was abuzz the next day.

"The French kid and Damien kissed in front of everyone!"

"I heard they're going out."

"No, they hate each other."

"Dammit, they're both so hot. I wish they were straight."

"Damien's just gonna chew him up and spit him out, that's for sure."

Chistophe had never gotten this much attention from his peers before. It made him extremely uncomfortable to be looked at and whispered about alone, but along with the fact that Damien was involved, well, that made the situation worse.

Damien, however, basked in the attention given to him by his classmates. Though he already intimidated his peers with his Satanic background and his powers, this gave him even more attention, which Damien couldn't get enough of.

Though their reactions differed, the two boys' thoughts were the same—were they actually dating, like their peers presumed? Christophe wasn't sure. They had kissed a few times, including once in public. Did that mean they were an item?

Christophe tried to ignore the girls giggling down the hallway as he grabbed his coat and bag to leave.

"There he goes!" they squealed as he pushed and shoved through the current of students. Christophe rolled his eyes, annoyed for a moment, but then he shrugged. Having them be all giggly and sweet was better than them being cruel and mean.

Once he made it outside, Christophe leaned against the brick wall, pulling out a cigarette, and ignoring the glare from a teacher he got in doing so. As he inhaled the smoke from the cancer stick, someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned, and, to his surprise, there stood a six-foot-six skyscraper that towered above everyone else. Christophe had to tilt his head up slightly to look the other boy in the eye. He had to dig through his memory to remember the boy's name. Craig Tucker.

"What?" Christophe asked.

"Are you and Damien a thing." he replied, his question sounding more like a statement in his monotone voice.

"I don't know." the brunette said flatly.

"Oh." the raven's eyes flickered away to his friends, who were waiting impatiently.

"Ees zere anyzing else you weesh to ask?" Christophe raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah." Craig mumbled. "I just wanted to tell you that Damien seems really, really into you."

Christophe blinked. "Really?"

Craig nodded. "Yeah. Him and I are friends. He always talks about you."

Christophe took a long drag, his eyes narrowing. "What does 'e say?"

"That you piss him off, like, a lot."

"And you zink 'e likes me because 'e says zat?" Christophe muttered, growing annoyed with the useless conversation.

"No. He also says that he can't get enough of you." Craig deadpanned.

The French boy frowned. "I 'ate eet when 'e gets all mushy like zat. _C'est trop bete."_

To the Frenchman's surprise, Craig nodded again, one corner of his mouth going up into a smile.

"_Tu comprends Francais?_" Christophe asked, looking the other boy up and down. Craig was pretty good-looking, his face made up of sharp angles that seemed a bit elfish at first glance. The grey eyes he had were pretty, but they didn't captivate him like Damien's red ones.

Craig's face remained emotionless as he replied. "_Un peu._"

Christophe chuckled at his heavy American accent.

"Look, Frenchy. We're going back to Token's place for video games. You wanna tag along?" Craig raised a black eyebrow expectantly. His friends gave him a look of reluctance. Christophe saw Craig shoot them a glimpse of his middle finger before he returned his focus to the brunette.

"Sure." Christophe replied. Maybe hanging out with these guys would get his mind off Damien.

"Cool. Now, come on." Craig walked over to his friends, Christophe following. There were three other boys. One of them was tall and lanky, but not as much so as Craig. The boy was African-American, and his stance looked confident and relaxed. The boy next to him had a shit-eating grin slapped on his face. It reminded Christophe of Damien's shark-like smirk, except not as malicious. His brown hair fell into his eyes and his stout, muscular body was adorned in jeans and a button-up red jacket. He looked like the average American teenager—there didn't really seem to be anything particularly special about him feature-wise. What Christophe was really interested by, though, was the third boy. He was very short and his blonde hair was messy, as if he never brushed it. The boy's brown eyes were wide, a permanent look of surprise in them. He twitched every few seconds, which puzzled Christophe.

"This is Token, Clyde, and Tweek." Craig motioned toward the boys, the first two throwing him a half-hearted 'Hey' and the last one letting out a small noise of anxiety.

"Wait, you're Christophe, right?" the average-looking one—Clyde—asked.

"Yeah, the-the French kid." Tweek added.

"So, Frenchy, are you gay for the Prince of Darkness?" Clyde wiggled his eyebrows, grinning widely. Christophe shot him a glare.

"Duh, dumbass." Token punched his arm mockingly. "They kissed yesterday, remember?"

"Shut up, guys." Craig shoved both of them before glancing over at Tweek, who was murmuring something about the government.

"You're one to talk." Clyde retorted. "At least I'm not gay for Coffee Bean over there." he pointed to Tweek.

"AH! Wh-What did I do? Stop looking at me, Clyde! NGH! I hate being stared at! T-Too much pressure!" his left eye twitched slightly.

To Christophe's surprise, Craig wrapped an arm around Tweek's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it." he said softly.

"GAY! TOTALLY GAY!" Clyde said, sauntering over to the two now annoyed boys. "Guess you're not the only one, huh, Christophe?" he winked in the Frenchman's direction.

"_Va te faire foutre._" Christophe snapped back at the shorter boy.

"Such a beautiful language." Token grumbled. "Now get in, losers. We're leaving."

They all complied, happy to take a seat in Token's high-class vehicle. The others talked of nothing on the ride to Token's—well, nothing that Christophe bothered to care about.

"Move your bony ass, Tweek." Clyde whined from the back seat. "I wanna play video games."

"F-Fuck you." Tweek said in response, earning another long stare from Craig.

Christophe never really played video games—he never really got the high that other boys did when they put their hands on the controller.

"Halo, here we come!" Token said, popping the game into his system and throwing himself onto one of the many couches that were in the rich boy's living room.

"You guys are gonna get your asses kicked." Craig said, smirking.

"N-Now if I can help it." Tweek replied with a small smile.

Clyde rolled his eyes and looked over to Christophe, mouthing one word. 'Gay!'

After a few rounds of gameplay, it was obvious that Christophe was going to win every time.

"Dude, how do you do that?" Clyde asked, as if he were acknowledging a god.

"I 'ave completed many real missions wiz a gun. Killeeng people wiz a fake one ees too easy." Christophe shrugged.

"AHH! I knew it!" Tweek cried. "He's an assassin! He's gonna kill us!"

"Tweek, calm down." Craig soothed, smoothing out the much shorter boy's hair. "He's not gonna kill us. Well, not in real life."

Christophe smiled. "You don't know zat." he mumured almost inaudibly.

After a couple hours, three of the five boys were bouncing off the walls. Token, Craig, and Clyde were experiencing the drug-like effects of gaming, while Tweek and Christophe just sat there, not wanting to be the ones that calmed the other three down.

"Just admit it, dude!" Token grinned. "You're gay for Tweek!"

"I am NOT!" Craig growled, pinning the boy down to the floor.

"Oh, really? Please explain the fact that you eye-rape him every day in History class." the usually calm boy retorted.

Tweek's coffee-brown eyes widened.

"Wh-What? Craig, are you stalking me?! I can't deal with that! TOO MUCH PRESSURE!"

Christophe groaned. All around him was pure chaos.

Token had left Craig alone to wrestle with Clyde, Tweek was having a nervous breakdown, Craig was trying to calm him down—and failing—and Christophe was sitting there, waiting for them to shut the fuck up.

"Chris is looking a little lonely." Clyde teased, punching the French boy in the arm. "Let's get Damien over here!"

"Yeah! Craig, call him up!" Token ordered.

Christophe glared at the two annoying boys, but didn't do anything to stop the raven from picking up his phone and calling up the Antichrist.

"Hey, Damien. It's me. ...Yeah, I'm with the guys. Can you come over to Token's for video games and shit? ...Okay, cool. See you in a minute."

As soon as Craig hung up the phone, there was a flash of light and a flicker in the electricity, and Damien was there. Christophe sighed, remembering the power that the demon-boy posessed.

"Hey, guys." he greeted, before seeing Christophe sitting there on the couch.

"What're you doing here?" he asked, before realizing his comment could be taken the wrong way and adding "I didn't know you hung out with these guys."

"Zey invited me." Christophe shrugged. "Eef I knew zey were zis annoyeeng, I wouldn't 'ave came."

Damien smiled. "Well, fuck it, you're here. You ready to get you ass kicked in Halo?"

Christophe smiled right back. "Bring it on, Royal Bastard. I do zis for a leeveeng."

The two were then fiercely engaged in a one-on-one game. Tweek and Craig were rooting for the Frenchman, while Token and Clyde sided with the Antichrist. Gradually, more and more deals were made on whoever won or lost.

"Whoever loses has to eat my mom's tuna casserole."

"Whoever wins gets lemon bars."

"If you lose, Damien, I swear to God I'll tell your dad to fry you for making me lose ten bucks."

Finally, one of the bets broke the boys' focus on their game.

"Whoever loses has to kiss the winner!"

Everyone's eyes moved from the TV screen to Tweek, who blushed in response.

"Hey, they like each other anyway, so what's the point?" Craig said defensively.

Everyone shrugged and agreed, and the game went on.

In the end, it was Christophe who won the game, much to Token and Clyde's dismay.

"IN YOUR FACES, ASSHOLES!" Craig hollered, pumping his fist in victory and flipping off Clyde and Token.

"Damien, you've got a lot of shit to do." Token patted the red-eyed boy on the back comfortingly.

"Don't forget, Clyde. He gets lemon bars." Tweek chimed in, pointing towards Christophe.

"Yeah, yeah." Clyde waved away the comment, before an evil grin slid across his face. "Now. I wanna see some action. Kiss him, Damien."

"Do it!" Craig said, smiling. The way he smiled calmed Damien and Christophe down, as if he was saying that it was alright and no one really cared.

"Whatever." Damien grumbled.

Slowly, he leaned in to press his lips to Christophe's lightly, earning an 'Aww' from Tweek and a wolfwhistle from Clyde.

The other boys were surprised when Damien didn't pull away.

Christophe slowly began to kiss Damien back, pushing his fingers through Damien's silky black hair and enjoying the small sound that came from Damien's mouth when he did so. Damien slung his arms over the French boy's broad shoulders, massaging them as their lips moved at the same time. The kiss got deeper when Damien bit down on the other boy's lip and slid his tongue into Christophe's mouth. The brunette's cheeks warmed at the now growingly familiar feeling.

The witnesses saw flashes of white teeth and tongue as the two boys kissed, melting themselves into one another.

"Jesus Christ." Token muttered.

"Get a room!" Clyde exclaimed.

"Shut up, guys." Craig whispered to his friends. "Let them...do their thing. It's not like they're gonna fuck in front of us."

"Yeah. I-I think it's k-kinda cute." Tweek replied, blushing.

"Me, too." Craig murmured, a faraway look in his grey eyes.

Christophe and Damien broke away at that comment.

"So?" Token raised an eyebrow. "Are you two...together?"

Damien looked at Christophe. Christophe looked at Damien. Both of them blushed.

"I don't know." Damien said dully. "Are we?"

"In my book, yes." Clyde confirmed.

"Me, too." Token added. "Craig?"

The glanced over to look at Tweek and Craig. All of their jaws dropped at the same time.

Craig was leaning over Tweek, kissing him fiercely.

Damien and Christophe glanced at each other.

"You wanna go out?" Damien deadpanned.

Christophe was a little shaken at his bluntness, but he shrugged.

"_M'en fous."_ he said.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." Damien said, grinning. "You wanna go home?"

Christophe nodded and took Damien's hand, and with a flash they were gone.

**I couldn't help it, I had to add some Creek in there. I'm a sucker for that ship :3**

**(Don't worry, the story will still focus on Christophe and Damien)**

**French Stuff**

**_C'est trop bete._**** - It's too silly.**

**_Tu comprends Francais?_**** - You understand French?**

**_Un peu._**** - A little**

**_M'en fous._**** - I don't care. (It's actually je m'en fous, but the way I put it is more slang-ish.)**


	11. Chapter 11 - Cliches

**Yay, another chapter! I just wanted to apologize for not responding to all of the reviews you guys post. I read them all, I assure you. And I love you guys for liking this story. :D Alright, let's do this!**

In a split second, the boys found themselves in Christophe's room.

"Zanks for ze...transportation." Christophe mumbled.

"No problem." Damien said casually. "I'll see you tomorrow at seven."

"Why?" Christophe knit his brow.

"If we're going out, then let's go out." Damien said, shrugging.

Christophe couldn't exactly argue with that. The thought of going out on a date with Damien brought knots into his stomach. He'd never been on a date before, and never really had any intention to go on one—until now.

Christophe frowned again. "Fine. But I'm not letting you pay for eet." the brunette could barely stomach the idea of going out with Damien, let alone the thought of the Antichrist picking up the tab.

"We'll see about that, princesse." Damien replied with a smirk. He winked at the French boy and, with a flash of light, disappeared.

Christophe let out a huff of breath, dropping his body onto his bed. He couldn't believe that he actually liked Damien.

Said boy appeared a second later in his familiar home in Hell.

"Hey, sweetie, how was Token's?" Satan asked from the kitchen, where he wore a flowery apron and scrubbed dishes.

"Fine." Damien sighed. "I lost the game to Christophe."

Satan laughed. "Why am I not surprised? That kid is something else. It's so cute how you two like each other."

Damien winced. He wished his father would stop talking about his relationship with the French boy. He had tried to hide it at first, but his father gradually found out with the help of his ability to see when something was wrong with his demon had pried so much that Damien had gave in and admitted his feelings for the Frenchman. Satan, being gay himself, was delighted.

But Damien wouldn't deny his father's true statement. Christophe was something else.

"Yeah. I asked him out on a date. Tomorrow at seven." Damien informed his father, who's smile was spread wide across his face. By looking at the father and the son, you could tell that smirk was hereditary.

"Oh, how wonderful! We need to find you something spiffy to wear!"

At that comment, Damien's smirk grew. He had a perfect plan in mind.

Meanwhile, Christophe lay on his bed, his eyes closed. The boy wasn't asleep, just deep in thought. He knew Damien was going to pull something. What it was, he had no idea, but Christophe wasn't dumb enough to think that Damien would do this without some sort of catch, even Christophe thought that there wasn't much in it for him, anyway.

There was also the issue of his overprotective mother. Mrs. DeLorne was the second reason of why Christophe never went on dates—the first being that he hated them—because she thought her son was growing up too fast. Not only that, Christophe hadn't even told his mother he was gay yet, which was going to be a challenge. His mother was a devout Christian, which would make it all the more difficult.

XxX

"Christophe! Brush out your 'air, _bon sang_! Eef you are goeeng on zis date, make yourself presentable!" Mrs. DeLorne screeched at her poor son. Christophe growled, despising the way he looked. His mother had forced him to shower and put on a pair of plain black slacks and a black button-down shirt with a matching vest and a green tie. Christophe wouldn't let his mother change his shoes, though—he still wore those worn out combat boots.

His heart jumped when he heard a knock at the door. Glancing at the clock, he saw. 7:00 on the dot. Christophe cursed at Damien's punctuality and opened the door.

There stood the Antichrist, dressed almost exactly the same as Christophe, in a black silk shirt with a black vest and slacks. The only difference was Damien's red tie and his red Converse sneakers that never really made their way off his feet. Christophe's cheeks got warm as he looked at Damien's face—his face looked perfect, and his crimson eyes were bright. In realizing that they looked almost exactly the same, Damien smirked.

"Great minds think alike, huh?" Damien asked, chuckling at Christophe's angry glare in response.

"Oh, ees your date 'ere! Let me say 'ello! Christophe, stop staring, it's impoli—" Mrs. DeLorne's nagging was cut off when she saw the familiar red-eyed boy at her doorstep.

"Hello, Mrs. DeLorne." Damien said, plastering on a sugary smile that made Christophe cringe.

"Christophe...ees—ees zis your...date?" Mrs. DeLorne asked breathlessly.

Her son didn't dare say anything. He just nodded slowly, his jaw clenched.

Damien just stared, a bit confused at the situation. Then it dawned on him—Christophe probably never told his mother about him being gay. He shot the other boy a glance. Christophe just stared back, a clear message on his pained face—don't try anything.

A small sound came from Mrs. DeLorne as her face went into her hands. She was crying.

Christophe sighed, finally relaxing his jaw enough to speak. "Mozer, I'm sorry I deedn't tell you earlier."

After a few moments of awkward silence, she cleared her throat.

"Go a'ead and go, or you'll be late." she choked out, regaining her composure.

"_Merci, maman. Je sais que ca doit etre difficile pour toi, et je suis desolee, mais c'est pas quelque chose que je peux arreter. Le detaille qui tu doit souvenir c'est que je suis content, meme si je suis avec un autre garcon._" Christophe said softly, wrapping his arms around his mother in a quick embrace.

"_Oui, je sais._" Mrs. DeLorne replied, a weak smile crossing her face. Damien grinned. "_Et je mens fous si tu aimes les garcon ou les filles. Tu est mon fils, et je t'aime._"

Damien grinned wider and Christophe half-smiled, half-cringed at the cliche conversation they were having.

"Now get out of 'ere." she said with a smile. Damien nodded as Christophe followed him out the door, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before closing it.

"That went well." Damien noted, grinning. "So, from what I got out of your conversation, your mom is okay with you being gay?"

"Yes, I suppose. Eet weel take a while for 'er to get used to eet, zough." Christophe said, his lips dropping the smile and turning back into their regular almost-frown.

From what seemed out of nowhere, Damien pulled out a single red rose and handed it out to Christophe, smirking.

"I knew you were going to do zis." Christophe muttered, taking the flower.

"I was going to give it to you at the door, but then...that happened." Damien said.

"I zink we've both 'ad enough cliches for one day, 'aven't we?" Christophe growled, making a big point of breaking the flower in half right in front of Damien's eyes. The Antichrist merely chuckled. He knew that would happen.

"Let's go." Damien grabbed the French boy large hand in his own and willed himself to be transported through the air. In a second, there they were.

"Where ze fuck are we?" Christophe raised an eyebrow as he looked over at a building. It had neon signs and many cars were parked outside. Then he realized where they were.

"I'm going to keel you, Damien Zorn!" Christoph shouted. Damien just laughed and laughed, partly at the Frenchman's expression and partly at the way he said his name in his thick accent.

"Yep, looks like we're going to have to go bowling in vests and ties, aren't we?" he said, an evil grin on his face.

"Wasn't ze rose enough torture?" Christophe sighed, looking up at the worn-down building.

"Nope." Damien said simply, grabbing Christophe's arm and pulling him inside.

XxX

The man at the counter for shoe rental was more than surprised to see two teenagers in rather fancy clothes come into his bowling alley. One of them was tall and lanky, his face pale. His eyes were a brilliant red. The other was shorter but way more muscular and tanned, and he looked rather reluctant to be here. The man checked around for girls in pretty dresses. Maybe they just came out of a dance or something. When there weren't any girl, he frowned. That was odd.

"Size twelve for me, please." the red-eyed one said, his voice having an undertone of amusement. "Dammit, Christophe, when are you gonna find your fucking shoe size?"

The other boy was taking off his boots and looking at the size, grumbling.

"Eet's not my fault zat Amereecan shoe sizes are so fucked up." the boy shot back in a very heavy French accent.

"Okay, then. Twelve for him, too, I guess." the pale boy said, trying not to laugh.

The man brought up their shoes, chuckling under his breath. He always got the weird ones here.

Christophe howled in laughter at the sight of Damien trying to pick up a bowling ball. The Antichrist had sweat on his brow from the effort it took to lift the damn thing off the ground.

"Excuse me for not being Mr. Muscle Man." Damien rolled his eyes. Christophe just laughed again and picked up his ball with ease.

Damien threw his bowling ball haphazardly into the lane, watching it roll and knock down a few pins. He pumped his fist when he saw that all were knocked down except for one. He threw another ball, and it landed in the gutter.

"Amateur." Christophe said, laughing as he got his fifth strike in a row.

"Oh yeah?" Damien growled, competition suddenly fueling a fire in his chest. He threw the ball at a new set of pins forcefully, knocking them all down. Damien let out a whoop of victory and pumped his fist.

Christophe rolled his eyes and got his sixth strike.

The game kept going. Damien got a lot of spares with the occasional strike, and Christophe got a strike every time. The Antichrist felt a pang of jealousy for the Frenchman's flawless arm movements.

Christophe picked up the ball for another strike, swinging it experimentally and latching his eyes on his target—the front and center middle pin. Just as he was about to let the ball go, he felt Damien rest his head on his shoulder and snaked his arms around the Frenchman's waist.

"Go away, I'm trying to zrow ze ball." Christophe said, annoyed.

"I'm not gonna let you get another strike in a row." Damien said simply.

"Dammit! Damien, leave me a—" Christophe got cut off when he felt Damien kiss his neck.

"Let go of the ball." Damien purred. "And I will."

"No." Christophe said stubbornly, trying to stifle a moan that was rumbling in his throat. Damien felt his neck vibrate under his lips.

"Fine." he murmured, scraping his teeth against the Frenchman's jawbone. Christophe thanked the owner for putting them in a room by themselves.

"I 'ate you, Damien." Christophe said weakly, almost melting under the Antichrist.

"That's bullshit and you know it." Damien said, grinning. "Now let go, I'm getting impatient."

"Never." was Christophe's breathless response.

Sure enough, the heavy ball dropped as Damien bit down hard on the French boy's collarbone. It fell right on his feet.

"AUGH! **_PUTAIN!_**" Christophe screamed out, as a white-hot shock of agony surged through his body.

The ball rolled lazily down the lane, gradually slowing down until it hit one pin and fell into the unknown place that bowling balls go to.

"That's what you get for getting too many strikes, asshole!" Damien said, laughing at the Frenchman's expression.

"Fuck you, Damien."

"Go ahead."

"Don't be smart wiz me. My foot ees probably broken now because of you." Christophe growled menacingly.

"Fine, fine. Calm down. Let me see your foot." Damien deadpanned, sitting on a nearby bench.

Christophe obliged, his face distorted in pain.

"Here, let me try something." Damien said, a calculating look on his face. Christophe groaned.

"Eef you are going to do somezing to my ozer foot, I weel seduce you eento dropping a fuckeeng bowling ball on your feet so you see 'ow eet feels." Christophe grumbled, wincing as Damien felt his foot for a break.

"Calm down." Damien said. "It's not broken. I'm not that mean. Here." he said, focusing on the injury. Chrstophe then felt a surging warmth in his foot, and after a moment, saw that it had healed.

"'Ow did you do zat?" Christophe raised his eyebrows.

Damien shrugged. "I don't know. I just focused myself on your foot and then it healed or something. I didn't even know I could do that."

"Well...zanks for figuring out 'ow, because zat 'urt like 'ell. No pun eentended."

The whole thing was like a bad romance movie—Damien chuckled at the thought. The crappy dates, the cliche rose, the stupid jokes.

"Hey, you wanna go home? This place smells like ass." Damien offered, holding a hand out to Christophe. He took it and stood up on his healed foot. The boys returned their shoes and left, appearing back at Christophe's doorstep.

"That was fun." Damien said.

"Except for ze part where you bit me and zen I dropped ze goddamn ball on my foot." Christophe added. "What am I goeeng to do? You left a mark, you bastard. My mozer weel see eet."

"Your 'mozer' is out." Damien imitated Christophe, pointing to the obviously empty spot in their driveway.

"Fuck you, Damien." Christophe said softly before giving the Antichrist a peck on the cheek and slamming the door closed, leaving the raven outside.

Damien was stunned for a moment, then left for home, forgetting about the knot that was in his stomach and the abnormal warmth that he felt on his cheeks.

**I really liked writing this chapter. :D**

**French Stuff**

_**Bon Sang -**_** Dammit**

**_Merci, maman. Je sais que ca doit etre difficile pour toi, et je suis desolee, mais c'est pas quelque chose que je peux arreter. Le detaille qui tu doit souvenir c'est que je suis content, meme si je suis avec un autre garcon. _**

**Thank you, Mom. I know this must be difficult for you, and I'm sorry, but it's not something I can stop. The detail that you must remember is that I'm happy, even if I'm with another boy.**

**_Oui, je sais._**** - Yes, I know.**

**_Et je mens fous si tu aimes les garcon ou les filles. Tu est mon fils, et je t'aime. -_** **And I don't care if you like boys or girls. You're my son, and I love you.**


	12. Chapter 12 - Numbness

**Chapter 12! Yay :D I have nothing really to say. You'll have to find out for yourselves...**

Christophe shut the door rather abruptly in Damien's face. But he didn't really care. Even if that asshole healed his foot, he still caused the injury in the first place.

Walking through the house, something felt..off. Christophe couldn't put his finger on it. The house was usually bustling with his mother, always cleaning or fussing about. But now, all there was surrounding was eerie silence—quiet that almost never occured in the DeLorne household. Christophe knew something was up.

And he didn't like it.

"Mozer?" he called softly through the house. "Are you awake?"

He glanced at his watch. It was ten thirty. He had been with Damien for longer than he had thought. Maybe she was asleep already.

Christophe decided to forget about the silence enveloping the house, and went into his room. He changed into a pair of loose sweatpants and a plain, old shirt he had worn to the point that there were holes in the fabric. The boy sighed, relieved. The discomfort he had felt while wearing that fancy shirt and vest had rendered him almost insane. Christophe didn't understand how people could wear garments like that every day. He couldn't even handle it for a few hours.

The French boy made his way to the bathroom, rolling back his shoulders, trying to get the tense feeling out of his defined muscles. His own attempts were nothing compared to the almost dreamlike massage Damien had given him a while back.

Christophe splashed some cool water on his face, rubbing it off with a towel. All that bowling had made his face shiny with sweat. Christophe never really cared to wash his face—he rarely got any blemishes, those scars were enough—but the sweat on his forehead felt greasy and unapealing.

He dried off his face with a fluffy towel, looking up into the mirror. The sight of his own face startled him for a moment—but Christophe assured himself that it was only his reflection, nothing more. He studied himself for a brief moment, then left the room.

Even though he tried to ignore the silence, he wondered. His mother snored. Why wasn't she snoring now? Christophe was puzzled.

He decided to check in on his mother, just to be sure she was sleeping well.

Making his way down the hallway, Christophe listened for any soft, quiet snores. The combined noise of Damien and bowling balls hitting pins may have made him lose some of his hearing. But when he snapped his fingers next to each of his ears, the sound went through perfectly—what was going on?

He turned the doorknob slowly enough so as not to wake his mother, and opened the door to the dark room.

"Mozer?" he called gently, not receiving any answer, not hearing any rustle of sheets.

He then noticed that his mother's closet door was slightly ajar.

Now Christophe knew that something was up. His mother was very insistent that the doors had to be closed if the places they led to weren't being used. Christophe hadn't really done what his mother had told him, but the rule always lingered in his mind whenever he left a door open. His mother's scolding voice would always echo in his head.

_You left ze door open, Christophe. Go close eet._

But, other than that, Christophe had never given the door rule much thought.

He turned on the light, the suffocating silence starting to make an impact on his nerves.

He opened the closet door.

His heart stopped.

There was Mrs. DeLorne.

She was in her everyday blouse and skirt, her brown hair perfectly normal. Her face wasn't visible. It was deep in the shadows that appeared when the bright light leaked into the closet. Everything about her seemed ordinary enough. Christophe exhaled, then realized.

His mother's feet were off the ground.

She was...floating?

No, she couldn't be. Christophe didn't see any angel wings.

He did, however, see something shiny up on the coat hook.

Bewildered, Christophe took a closer look. It was a belt buckle. It took a moment for the brunette to put together the puzzle. When he did, a small electric shock made its way through his veins. He threw himself over to where his mother was hanging, grabbing her face.

It was cold, her skin pale and clammy. Her eyes stared right into his—they were mirror images of each other. The only difference was that hers were pale and stony. There was no life in them whatsoever.

An agonizing numbness began to overcome the initial shock that had overwhelmed Christophe. It was a sense of finality, confirmation—his mother was dead.

But why?

As if on cue, a small envelopemade its way into Christophe's field of vision. He knew it was a note for him, and opened it.

_Christophe,_

_I can't even apologize. Because I know that no matter what, you won't forgive me for this. I couldn't upset your friend. Or boyfriend, or whoever that was. I don't want you to have to take long to read this, so I'll make this brief. I raised you to be a strong, Catholic boy. I told you that one day you would be married to a nice woman, and you would have children and be happy for the rest of your life. When I found out today that you liked men, I wasn't angry with you. I was disappointed. I was disappointed that my boy, my sweet little Christian boy, wasn't going to fulfill the life I had planned out for him. I had failed as a parent. And, well, here you are, reading this. Don't be angry, though. Without me, you can live a life of peace with whoever you want, without dealing with my objections._

_I love you, Christophe, even though I took the coward's way out and did this instead of acting like a parent and dealing with it._

_Be safe,_

_Your Mother._

_PS. Don't worry about living. I arranged it all. Call this number. _

Christophe stared at the latter, his hands shaking slightly as he read her handwriting. The numbness had made its way to his brain, making the words blurred and hard to read. Christophe dropped the letter to the floor.

Now what was he supposed to do?

His mother had left him here, claiming that she "arranged it all." Who was supposed to be there for him now? His father? No, that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let that cheating bastard take care of him.

Shakily, Christophe punched in the numbers of the number his mother had put in her letter.

"Hello?" a familiar voice answered.

"My mozer ees dead." Christophe said bluntly, his voice shaky and uneven. "She told me to call zis number."

"...Your mom's DEAD? She told us to take care of you because she was leaving and for some reason didn't want to leave you with your father. Well, I guess she did leave..." the voice trailed off.

"What am I supposed to do?" Christophe asked, his voice cracking.

"Just...wait a minute. I'm on my way." the voice said, not bothering to tell Christophe who he was. Christophe ended the call and walked to his room, in an almost zombie-like manner. The numbness tingled on his fingertips, and he didn't like it one bit.

Slowly, he gathered his things, leaving a lot of his items. Everything didn't feel real. His mother was...dead? It didn't seem logical. His mother couldn't be dead. Then he'd be done for.

A thought then snapped into the boy's mind. He had to get his legal papers. He couldn't just go off with anyone without doing all the legal stuff. So, he made his way to his mother's study, opening the drawer that kept their important documents, and grabbed his halfheartedly.

Walking down the stairs, he almost tripped over his two feet. But he made it, in time to see an all-too-familiar car parked in his driveway.

"Why are you 'ere?"

"Because I have to be." the other boy responded simply.

That other boy was none other than Token Black.

xXx

Weeks later, Christophe had taken total refuge at the Blacks'. The family had taken pity on him for his mother being dead, so they let him stay here. In fact, they didn't have a choice. Christophe realized that his mother had signed the documents indicating that they were to be his legal guardians if something happened to her. Both of the teenage boys were surprised to hear that their families knew each other well. Their mothers had been best friends in college, but drifted away after a while when Mrs. DeLorne moved back to France. They had reconnected when she came back to live in America. All without Christophe not knowing.

The French boy wasn't very numb anymore. It had sunken in that his mother was dead, and all of the sadness he had felt had evaporated into anger. His classmates had realized that he had been acting way more moody, and found out why when the teachers had informed them that Christophe's mother had committed suicide.

This, obviously, had caused gossip to spread about the school. There were many rumors, some being that Christophe's mother had killed herself because of an ongoing drug addiction. Others claimed that she hadn't killed herself at all, and that Christophe was assigned to kill her on an assassination mission for millions of dollars.

None were true.

Meanwhile, Damien and Christophe had drifted apart, much to both of the boys' dismay. Christophe needed Damien more than ever now, and Damien wanted to comfort him desperately. But the boys never got to see each other, because of Christophe's newly assigned therapy sessions—thanks to the Blacks' generosity.

However, the other boys that had been hanging out with Christophe were drawn closer. Token had to live with Christophe, making them become almost best friends. Clyde had tried very, very hard to lighten Christophe's mood, which the Frenchman really appreciated, despite it being extremely annoying. Craig had offered Christophe moral support, feeling empathy. His uncle had died recently, leaving him in a bad mental state. Tweek had enough emotional problems, so he was there to indentify with Christophe when he felt down.

Christophe thought about how his friendship with the four other boys had strengthened, and smiled for the first time that day. He sat in History, jotting down notes as fast as he could to keep up. His shrink had told him to focus on his studies and not the gossip—which Christophe did already—but now the brunette's mind was completely occupied by the new knowledge he had accumulated through this whole incident.

Suddenly, a small piece of paper had landed on his desk. He turned to look at Craig, puzzled. The tall boy mouthed 'Damien' and turned his head back to his notes. Christophe unfolded the note.

_We have to meet up soon. I need to talk to you._

Christophe didn't bother to respond to the note. He would catch up with Damien later. Today, his shrink had called and told him that they had to cancel the appointment, due to him being sick with the flu.

After school, Christophe stood at the doorway of the school, politely declining when Clyde asked if he wanted to go to Taco Bell with him and Tweek, explaining that he was going to finally see Damien. Clyde winked and walked off, with the twitchy boy in tow.

"There you are." he heard Damien say from behind him.

"'Ere I am." Christophe grumbled.

"Did you get my note?" Damien asked, grinning.

"Yep, Craig deed a very good job delivering eet." Chirstophe replied flatly. This conversation was getting awkward, fast.

"Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you. We haven't had the chance since...you know." Damien trailed off, looking down awkwardly. "How's living with Token?"

"Eet's alright. Zey are so reech. Every day, I feel like I 'ave woken up een a 'otel or somezeeng." Christophe responded with a light laugh. Damien noticed that the boy looked less depressed.

"You're looking way better." Damien noted, looking at Christophe's face. It was true. The boy had regained the fire inside of him, that angry spark that kept Damien on his toes. Except now it was brighter, igniting a blaze so powerful it wouldn't compare to Damien's embers. There was a newfound determination inside Christophe—and Damien could feel it radiating off the French boy.

"Zank you, I guess." Christophe said.

"I missed you." Damien said as he wrapped his arms around the shorter boy's waist.

"Surprisingly, I did, too." Christophe sighed, running his hands through his thick brown hair. It made Damien realize how much he really did miss Christophe.

"I knew it. You're cracking. You're getting soft for me! YES! Point for Damien!" Damien cheered, pumping his fist.

"I may 'ave missed you, but eet was only because of zis." Christophe said, a playful smirk crossing his face. He tackled Damien to the ground, as the Antichrist fell with a thump. The ground was slightly soggy as the boys wrestled each other, earning a few stares from classmates.

But they didn't care. They had rekindled the spark for one another. And that's all that mattered.

**Cliche ending, I know. Betcha weren't expecting THAT!**

**Well, ha, I'm not one to do expected things. Heh heh heh.**

**Tell me what you think of the story by reviewing and stuff! I love hearing you guys' input on the story. I'm trying my best to keep them both in character. It's a bit difficult, but I'm trying. :3**


	13. Chapter 13 - Competition

**Chapter 13, here we go! I hope it's not unlucky. Sorry for the wait, I had a bit of writer's block again. I know Damien wasn't mentioned much in the last chapter, so this one's gonna be all him. Therefore, there's no French in here, really. Sorry, guys. :c**

Damien focused hard on his new drawing. Zeusophobia. Christophe had suggested it earlier that day at school, when Damien had told him he had run out of mental illnesses to draw.

No, the phobia wasn't exactly a mental condition, but it definitely wasn't something the Antichrist would pass up.

His brow furrowed as he drew a sharp diagonal line in the corner of the paper, a deep cobalt blue that shyed away from the bright, warm colors that shone in rays down into the shadows. He scribbled and filled the space in, adding darker hues for shadowing. The music pounded in his ears and the colors screamed at him on the page. Damien felt himself completely relax.

He looked back, admiring the abstract sketch he had just created. The colors flowed together seamlessly, showing the thoughts that poured out from Damien's mind onto the paper. The dark blues were jagged and sharp, contrasting with the curled edges of the lines of soft yellow. Damien took another look at his picture, then flipped it over to write on the back of it.

_Zeusophobia – Fear of God._

After he had put his new work of art into a folder (that he had skillfully hid so his father wouldn't find it), Damien sat on his bed and closed his eyes, folding his hands over his chest. He always did this after he finished a drawing. His heart and soul had been poured out onto the paper—his mind was now devoid of any relevant thoughts.

Damien loved this part of the process. The time of day when he would flop down on his bed and think of nothing in particular. It felt good to be empty.

This time, though, it was different. Damien couldn't stay still. He squirmed a bit, trying to make himself comfortable. He tried raising the volume of his music. He tried lowering it. But nothing worked. He sighed, giving up, and pushed himself off his bed, pulling ff his headphones.

"Dad?!" Damien called. His father didn't answer. Damien sighed again, frustrated. He walked into the kitchen. It was empty.

Or so he thought.

"Hello." an all-too-familiar voice said.

"Fuck." Damien mumbled under his breath. "What're you doing here?"

Kenny McCormick stepped out from the hallway parallel to Damien.

"It happened again." he said, rolling his eyes.

"I can see that." Damien grumbled. "You need to be more careful. There's gonna come a day where I'm not going to bring you back."

Damien and Kenny had known each other for many years. They never talked at school—they were two different social groups- but Kenny had died many, many times, and every time he did, he had convinced Damien to bring him back to life. The way Kenny convinced Damien to do so differed. Sometimes, begging. Other times, aggression. Most of the time, seduction. Damien hadn't really cared whether Kenny lived or not—so in return for his affection he gave him life every time.

But it was different now. Now that Christophe was around, Damien didn't need Kenny anymore.

"Maybe it'll be today." Kenny's response broke into Damien's thoughts. His voice didn't belong there. It felt wrong, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.

"It's going to be today." Damien growled.

Kenny smirked. "Not if I can help it."

"Try me." Damien said, his red eyes blazing, daring the blond boy to make a move. The look in the boy's blue eyes was one that Damien had learned not to trust. They looked innocent enough on the outside, but that was a mask, a decoy that covered up the true expression Kenny wore.

"Why so defensive?" Kenny asked, plastering on a look of fake innocence that might as well be translucent. "You've always let me go before."

Damien's stare was fixed to the ground.

"Oh, I see." Kenny said, stepping towards Damien, smirking. "It's the French kid, isn't it?"

"That doesn't concern you." Damien said, his voice dull.

"It doesn't?" Kenny asked, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Because I thought differently, there."

Damien knew where Kenny was going with this. He had known for a long time, refusing it to shake him up. He wasn't going to stand for it now.

"You so much as lay a hand—no, wait. You so much as breathe on him, and I'll make sure you don't come back. Ever." the black haired boy turned his gaze to Kenny's, looking him straight in the eye. Though, inside, he knew he was bluffing. One, Christophe could stand up for himself. If the Frenchman knew that Damien was standing up for him, it would be him that would be dead, not Kenny. Two, he couldn't just leave Kenny there. He always felt sympathy for the young souls that entered Hell, no matter how big of assholes they were, in Kenny's case.

"I won't even have to." Kenny grinned. "He'll be crawling to me like that." to accentuate his point, he snapped his fingers. The sound echoed in Damien's ears, making him all the more pissed off.

"Christophe isn't an idiot, like you are." Damien hissed. "He knows you're just in it for the sex."

"So?" Kenny said. "It seems that that would be Christophe's ideal relationship—no feelings, just fuck once in a while."

Damien realized. Kenny may have been right. Christophe was never one for feelings, so why would Damien be an exception? After all he had done to the brunette, there was no reason for Christophe to have feelings for him.

Unless he...

No. Damien shook the thought out of his head.

After a few moments of silence, the raven spoke. "You might be right, but there is no way you're going to get with him. Not while I'm around."

"How about when you're not?" Kenny responded, almost instantly.

Again, Kenny had a point. Damien sighed. The boy was a sex addict, but he was damn intelligent.

He couldn't think of a better reply than "Go fuck a teddy bear."

"I can't, unless I go back." Kenny pointed out. Dammit, when was this guy going to stop contradicting everything he said?

His voice changed suddenly as he took another step towards Damien.

"The only thing here is you." he purred.

"Kenny." Damien said flatly.

"You know." the blond continued. "Christophe isn't the only one I like." he got closer, his blue stare making Damien uncomfortable, even though the Antichrist knew it was all an act. "You're fucking gorgeous."

"Kenny." Damien growled, a warning tone in his voice. "That's over now. Whatever it was that we ever...did, it's over." the blond was close, too close. Their foreheads were touching.

"Don't act like you didn't like it." Kenny murmured seductively, pushing his fingers through Damien's hair, making him even more uncomfortable. It was obvious that Kenny was a veteran when it came to seducing other boys. His movements were perfect, almost as if they had been rehearsed, over and over. The Antichrist felt his heart beat faster and his stomach flip-flop. He mentally groaned over his own stupidity. Kenny had that effect of people, no matter how much you hated him.

"Kenny, I don't—" Damien's protests were interrupted by Kenny shoving his tongue into the other boy's mouth, crashing their lips together.

It felt all wrong to Damien. Their mouths didn't fit together, didn't mold perfectly like when him and Christophe kissed. Their kisses were full of passion and rough. This one was way too smooth, way too experienced.

Damien automatically pulled back.

Kenny pouted. "Pity. I was getting into it."

Nothing really came from Damien but a low, animalistic growl.

"Damn, that's sexy." The blond muttered at the sound. All it did was make Damien more angry.

"Just...go." he said after calming himself down. His voice was soft as he willed Kenny to disappear. As Kenny faded away back into the human world, Damien could hear him speak.

"I guess if I can't have one, I'll go for the other."

That statement made Damien automatically regret his decision to take Kenny back home. He wanted that bastard to burn here, killing himself over and over.

The thought of Kenny being bludgeoned and beaten endlessly made a calm smile form on Damien's lips. In doing so, he swiftly went to the bathroom and used the mouthwash his father had on hand, to get Kenny's taste out of his mouth. The mintiness that overcame him wasn't much better, but it would suffice. At least he didn't have the smell of Axe and cigarettes on his tongue anymore.

The cigarette flavor only was good with Christophe.

Damien's mind did cartwheels when he realized that Kenny wasn't going to hold back. He was going to seduce him into leaving Damien for himself. That selfish bastard.

Damien chuckled at the hypocrisy at that statement. He had always been self-centered, focusing on what he wanted the most as oppose to everyone else. When he was little, he shoved other kids out of the line to use the slide for himself. He would eat the last cookie, drink the last can of Coke, torture the soul that was always fun to play with—and left others with nothing.

Yep, Damien was selfish, and that wasn't going to change. A smile crawled across his face at the thought of having Christophe all to himself. The tanned skin, the muscles, that sultry voice. All his, and no one else's.

Kenny didn't stand a fucking chance.

**Yep, Damien's back in character, all right. Let the record show that I LOVE KENNY! I just had to make him an ass for this story, so please excuse that. xD Again, I know there isn't any French in this chapter, but I hope you guys had fun with Damien. Tell me what you think about the story. I love reading you guys' thoughts. 3**


	14. Chapter 14 - Opinion

**Here you go, another chapter! I felt like Christophe was getting a bit out of character, so he's snapped back a little. :D**

Christophe was about to put out his cigarette when he saw someone standing a few yards away from him in his peripheral vision. Whoever they were, they were smoking, too. Christophe could see the small clouds coming from their mouth. It was a boy, a blond that Christophe vaguely remembered sharing a class with. They never really talked, and, like usual, Christophe never remembered his name.

He thought nothing of it, and walked back inside.

"Hey, 'Tophe." Craig said as he passed the other boy to get to his locker, Tweek following, acknowledging Christophe with a shy wave. Christophe tried to smile at the shaky boy, because by now he knew that Tweek would think him a threat if he didn't.

Christophe turned to get his items for his first class, and, instead of looking into the rusty old locker, he was looking into bright blue eyes.

"AH! What ze fuck?" Christophe snapped, startled. He then noticed the blond hair. That boy from outside followed him in.

"Hello." the boy said simply.

"Do I know you?" he cocked an eyebrow, trying to remember if he'd ever talked to this boy before.

"You do now." he said.

"Get out of my way, I 'ave to get to class."

"No." was the boy's reply as he grinned at Christophe.

"Get out of ze fuckeeng way." Christophe repeated.

The blond laughed. It was a light laugh that made the brunette's temper run shorter by the second.

"Not until you do something for me." his grin grew wider, and his blue eyes had a wicked glint in them.

"What now?" Christophe growled.

"Kiss me."

At this, Christophe stopped for a moment. Was this kid crazy or something? The brunette barely knew the other boy.

"_Va t'en. Sinon, je vais te donner un coup de pieds dans le estomach._" Christophe said, his voice low.

The boy chuckled.

"I'm not moving."

Christophe frowned, frustrated. He couldn't really kick the blond anyway—there was a teacher in front of them. His back was turned and no one else was in the hallway anymore, but it wasn't worth the risk.

He decided none of it was worth it. So he turned around and walked off. He would tell his teacher about the boy that refused to move his ass out of the way.

Before he could get far, an arm grabbed his and stopped him.

"_Qu'est ce que tu veux maintenant?"_ Christophe sighed. Before he could do anything, the boy smashed his lips against his own. The Frenchman froze because of the shock. It took him a while that someone else, besides Damien, was biting at his lower lip. Instinctively, Christophe shoved him into the parallel wall of lockers.

"Damn, you've got muscles." the boy said, looking down at the French boy's biceps. Christophe let low snarl rise in his throat.

"I don't know what ze 'ell your problem ees, keed, but I 'ave to get to class. Do me a favor and drop dead while you're at eet." Christophe said, pinning the boy's wrists down and twisting them slightly, causing the boy to grimace.

"Sure, and when I go to hell I can make out with your gorgeous boyfriend." the blond sneered. Christophe gave his wrists a sharp twist then, satisfied at the small crack that was heard.

"I'm Kenny." the boy said after Christophe let him go reluctantly.

"Good to know." Christophe said sarcastically, not bothering to look over at Kenny as he walked away.

He needed to get his stuff.

"Hey." a familiar voice appeared out of nowhere, making Christophe jump for the second time that day. Fuck, now what?

"What?" he sighed.

Damien just gave him a look.

"You saw me wiz 'im, deedn't you?" the brunette asked. Damien nodded.

"Kenny...he's trying to mess things up." Damien said.

"'Ow?" Christophe asked.

"He wants both of us. And if he doesn't get one, he'll get another."

"'Ow do you know?"

"He told me." Damien said. "He died the other day and told me before I brought him back."

"...Brought 'im back?"

"I have a soft spot for young souls." Damien said, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"You should've made 'im stay zere to rot." Christophe growled, a look of malice crossing his face.

"I should've." Damien muttered. "But I didn't. And, now, here we are."

"'Ere we are." Christophe grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Kenny's going to try and fuck with our heads. He'll do anything for sex..." Damien trailed off, recalling previous memories.

Christophe's eyes narrowed.

"Me and him...we used to..." Damien couldn't finish his sentence.

Christophe was surprised to hear the statement. It didn't really faze him that they had sex, Damien was a great-looking guy—he ought to have lost his innocence by now. But still, there was a small electric shock that made his fingers tingle. The Frenchman balled up his fists.

For good measure, Christophe punched the Antichrist in the face.

"What was that for?" Damien whined, grabbing his nose and buckling over in pain.

"Nozing." Christophe said innocently. "_Juste parce que tu est le plus stupide mec de tous l'universe."_

Damien shrugged. He could live with that.

"Help me up, will you?" he asked, a hand still clamped over his nose.

_"Non. Baise toi."_ Christophe said.

And with that, he walked away.

xXx

At lunch that day, Damien told his friends what had happened. They all reacted to the way Damien thought they would.

"Bastard." Clyde.

"He really needs to control himself." Token.

"Fuck him." Craig.

"HE'SWORKINGFORTHEGOVERNMENTOHNO IKNEWITIT'SALLASCHEMEFROMTHGNOMESICAN'THANDLEITTOOMUCHPRESSURE!" Tweek.

The last response got a couple stares from passers-by.

"What're you gonna do?" Token asked.

"I don't know." Damien said, drumming his fingertips on the table. "Maybe he'll just get the message after a while and back off."

Clyde scoffed. "Are you kidding? The kid'll do anything for a good fuck. Everyone knows that."

"But since when is Kenny into guys?' Craig asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yeah, he had a t-thing for boobs when we were l-little." Tweek added.

Christophe had completely lost interest in the conversation. His head was resting on the table, the coolness of it giving him a false sense of calm. He had closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep lightly while Damien gave him a one-handed massage. Those hands were so soothing, so sweet. Whereas the person attached to the—well, that was another story.

Realizing that the French boy was sleeping, the other boys gave Damien a questioning look.

"He's had a rough day." was the Antichrist's only explanation.

xXx

Meanwhile, Kenny sat with his friends Stan, Eric, and Kyle. The four boys had been insperable ever since they first met each other. Everything was the same—Stan was still a hippy, he was still poor, Kyle was still a Jew, and Cartman was still a fatass. The only thing that had changed was their surroundings. Elementary school evolved into middle, and middle evolved into high, where they were now. And by then, Kenny had had sex with every girl—and even a few guys—in the grade. Including Damien. After their get-together, Kenny had realized his feelings for the Antichrist, so he began to die on purpose just to see him. Of course, Damien didn't know that. He didn't want to look desperate in front of them.

Then, Kenny had begun to notice Christophe. His raw, unforgiving stare and his cynical rough exterior proved to be a challenge for Kenny to figure out.

But Kenny was determined to crack the code. No matter what it took. Yep, he liked both of those boys, and if he wasn't going to fuck one, he was going to fuck the other.

That was his philosophy. His twisted, fucked-up philosophy.

"Dude, are you okay?" Kyle shook him out of his thoughts, waving his hands in front of the other boy's face. "You've been staring at Damien Thorn for a long time now."

"Yeah. I think someone's gay for someone." Cartman smirked.

"Shut up, Cartman." Stan said. "Kenny's not gay for anyone. Are you, Kenny?"

Kenny didn't answer. He was too mesmerized by the small circles that Damien's hand was making on Christophe's back.

**A bit of a filler. For those of you who hate Kenny right now, don't. You'll see what happens in the end. Also, a quick note. Most of the chapters are going to be about our favorite French mercenary and our favorite Antichrist, but some of them will have a section that has to do with another, smaller pairing. What those pairings are, you'll just have to wait and see ;)**

**French Stuff**

**_Va t'en. Sinon, je vais te donner un coup de pieds dans le estomach._**** - Go away. Or else I will give you a kick in the stomach.**

**_Qu'est ce que tu veux maintenant?_**** - What do you want now?**

**_Juste parce que tu est le plus stupide mec de tous l'universe._**** - Just because you're the dumbest guy in the universe.**

**_Non. Baise toi._**** - No. Fuck you.**

**If you can, review! I lovelovelovelovelovelovelove hearing you guys' opinions and predictions of the characters and plot. I love you all 3**


	15. Chapter 15 - Perfection

**This is going to end suddenly. Yep, I hate to tell you guys, but we have made it to the end of the story. I'm not really sure how the ending went, but one thing's for sure-this story has been one of the funnest things to write for me. Like, ever. I just wanted you guys to know that. And don't worry. I've already started another Creek story, so if you're a fan of that pairing, I'm writing it. Okay, enjoy the chapter! **

Token Black wasn't much of a character. He always put others first—giving advice if he had the authority, helped them with their homework, and, most of the time, paid for everything. One would think that Token would be condescending due to his wealth, but he wasn't. Not at all. Token's priorities were like this—Family, school, friends, everything else, and then himself. The boy was selfless.

So, when Damien explained to him what had happened with Kenny, Token tried his best not to let himself become more of an importance than the Antichrist. It was excruciatingly painful not to share his woes with his friends, but he endured it. They probably wouldn't listen, anyway.

Token stared at himself in the large mirror of the Black's luxurious bathroom. He had it all—looks, brains, and money. His father told him so every single day. But Token disagreed. There was something missing, something beneath the surface that no one could see but himself.

And it bugged him, a lot.

But Token wasn't an idiot. He had seen Kenny looking at Christophe and Damien, like a starved wolf looks at raw meat. Somehow, Kenny probably thought that if he stared, he'd get his fill. Maybe it'd fill his empty stomach, just to look at those two boys. It both disgusted and fascinated Token. Kenny always looked like he needed someone, someone to fill in the gaps, to get rid of his emptiness.

Token felt the same way. He smiled the way he always did when he figured something out.

Maybe they could help each other.

xXx

Christophe was getting impatient. He banged on the delicate door, not caring that it probably cost a small fortune.

"TOKEN! Open ze fuckeeng door, I 'ave to take a shower."

The brunette could hear Token sighing from the other side of the door as he walked out, his hair still damp.

"Eet's a new record. An 'our and _deux minutes._"

Token rolled his eyes. "All yours." he muttered as he stalked over to his room.

"Ees somezing wrong?" Christophe's words stopped the taller boy in his tracks.

"I..uh...no, nothing." Token said. Christophe shrugged and went into the bathroom to shower. Token just sighed again. For once, he wanted someone to pay attention to him for once. He was always the one taking care of everyone else. Was it so hard for them to just return the favor?

The dark-skinned boy put on a fresh shirt of some fancy brand or another and a pair of jeans. He grabbed his phone and sent a message.

_I need to vent. Can we meet someplace, just the two of us?_

A moment later, his phone vibrated.

_New Message From: Craig_

_Sure, meet me at the park in ten minutes._

Token sighed in gratitude. Maybe Craig would understand.

At the park, Craig was seated underneath the gazebo, staring into space, like he usually was.

"Hey, man." Craig said lazily, Token's presence waking him from his half-asleep state.

"Hey." Token responded casually.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Token shrugged. "I don't really know. I just feel really...empty. All the time."

Craig nodded. "Go on."

"I mean, my dad tells me all the time that I've got it all, that I've got the life, and—stuff, but I disagree. Something's missing, you know?"

Craig's face twisted into a puzzled expression. "What do you think you're missing?"

"I-I don't really know. But I noticed something." Craig raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the only one who feels this way."

The black-haired boy looked at him skeptically. "Who else?"

Token's voice caught for a second, but he regained his composure. "Kenny."

Craig didn't say anything.

"He never gets anything from anyone!"

"Except for sex." Craig noted.

"Except for sex." Token agreed. "But other than that, look at him! His parents can barely afford to care for themselves, let alone him and Karen. Thank God Kevin's out of there."

"So?"

Token let out an exasperated puff of breath. "So, he needs something to fill the void. So do I. I was thinking. Maybe me and him could help each other, sort of."

At realizing what Token was implying, Craig facepalmed and groaned.

"PLEASE don't tell me you're gay for Kenny! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!"

The other boy glared. "You're one to talk. You've got a boyfriend."

Craig glared right back. "Yeah, but at least he hasn't fucked every kid at the school."

"Shut up." Token said, cutting off their intense eye contact.

Craig just flipped the other boy off and looked down at the graffiti scribbled on the side of the gazebo.

After a long, awkward silence, Craig spoke. "So, yes or no?"

"What?"

"Do you like him?"

Token was genuinely puzzled at the question. He had to answer honestly—not only was Craig great at reading people, his brutal honesty had rubbed off on Token, making him the worst liar of all time.

"I don't know."

That caught Craig's attention. At first, his eyes were wide in surprise, but then he grinned.

"Call the presses. Token Black doesn't know something."

His joke made Token laugh way more when he stated it in his unintentional monotone.

"Hey, don't worry about it, dude. That's how I felt before Tweek and I went out."

Token stopped laughing. "So, what did you do about it?"

Craig smirked again. "Call the presses. Token Black is coming to me for advice."

Token smacked his arm lightly. "Shut up."

"You were there. I just grabbed him and kissed him."

Token frowned. "I don't think that's going to work."

Craig shrugged. "How else are you gonna know if you like him or not?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe one kiss will fill the empty place in your bones."

"You're not helping."

The noirette frowned. "Hey, it's not that hard. Just go up to him at lunch and grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. If anything, Kenny will like it."

That was true, Token wouldn't deny it.

"Ugh. Fine. But if he tastes like shit, it's on your shoulders."

Craig put his hands up. "It's my fault. Guilty as charged. If things don't go as planned, we'll say you lost a bet or that I dared you or some shit."

Token nodded. "Okay."

xXx

The Monday after Craig and Token's meeting came too fast. At lunch, Token's hands shook a bit with anticipation. He was going to do it. He was going to make himself the center of attention, for once. Craig sat next to him, and noticed that his friend looked nervous. He gave him a pat on the back and mumbled so the others couldn't hear.

"It'll be fine. I'll help you out if you want me to."

Token nodded, feeling a cold sweat erupt on his forehead. He was shaking, almost as much as Tweek on a normal day.

Christophe gave him a questioning look.

"Should I 'ave not believed you ze ozer day when you said you were alright?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Y-yeah, you look—ngh!—really pale..." Tweek noted.

"Don't worry about it, you guys." Damien said. "Token's too rich to be sick." he winked in said boy's direction. Craig flipped him off.

"You're gonna find out now." he said, shoving Token off the table, forcing the boy to stand.

Kenny sat with his friends as they made pointless chitchat. He casually stole a glance over to Damien and Christophe's table. They were shooting concerned looks at Token, who looked a bit anxious. Before looking over, Kenny was trying to make a mental list of who he'd made out with in the school.

Craig. Yes, once, at a party.

Tweek. Yes, the same party. At the same time as Craig.

Damien. Multiple times.

Christophe. They kissed once, so that counted, right?

Clyde. After he broke up with Bebe, he needed some...comfort.

But Token? No, not at all. Token was too good, too perfect. To kiss Kenny would probably be considered a sin in the Black household.

But Kenny couldn't help but feel a bit of curiosity. He wondered what it felt like to have those full, perfect lips against his own. To run his hands through that thick black hair.

As he thought about this, Kenny felt his friends' eyes on him.

"Dude, are you okay?" Kyle asked, concerned.

Kenny nodded quickly and returned to his fantasy. Now that he had thought about it, there was something about Token, something about how he always put everything before himself, that made him feel guilty. Guilty for stealing everyone as his own, not realizing that they might actually mean something to him. He wished he had realized what he had done to some people. How he had swindled them into thinking he was interested, when he really wasn't. He had thrown them away, like toys that a child had gotten bored of. He didn't want anyone else to be a victim anymore. The feeling afterwards would eat him alive—and he had died far too many times to have to deal with that. If finding salvation would result in him losing Damien and Christophe, so be it. Kenny was ready to move on. He was determined.

Token started towards the table, anxiety making his stomach do somersaults. He hoped that he wouldn't vomit on Kenny, like Stan usually did on his girlfriend when they were young.

Kenny appeared deep in thought, and didn't react when Token approached the table.

"Uh, hey, Token." Stan said awkwardly.

Token ignored the other boys and looked Kenny straight in the eye. A rush of adrenaline coursed through his whole body. His hands continued to shake slightly. Nervously, he looked back at Craig, who, to his dismay, was already staring at him, his gaze stony, as if he was saying _You can do it. Go ahead. _

With this reassurance, all of Token's energy burst out. He grabbed Kenny by the zipper of his parka and pulled him up suddenly. It took the blond a second to wake from his daydream. When he did, he looked Token in the eye and gave him a puzzled glance.

Before Kenny could speak, another pulse of energy made Token smash his lips against the other boys'. As he did so, all his fear evaporated and turned into a sense of warmth and belonging.

Kenny's mind was still foggy, and it took him a bit of time to compute what was going on. Token Black was kissing him. In front of the entire school?

Yes. That was what was happening.

Once the realization ran through his brain, Kenny slowly began to move his lips against the pair that was against his own.

Token was surprised to feel Kenny's mouth move underneath his own. He had thought the blond would push him away, or just shove his tongue down his throat in some lusty maneuver. But this felt different. It felt sweet, like there weren't any underlying feelings that were dark and mysterious. The two boys wore their feelings out to the public, to one another. For the first time. Together.

Token was the first to pull away. As he did so, he saw about a million eyes on him. The cafeteria was completely silent. It was ominous, in a way.

"Kenny, I—" Token began.

"Don't give me an explanation. Just do it again." Kenny cut him off, grinning.

He agreed, and put his lips to the other boys' again. Now, cheers could be heard. How wonderful.

Meanwhile, Christophe and Damien were watching the scene unfold.

"Wow." was all Damien could say. "That was an...interesting turn of events."

"Eet's such a 'appy endeeng, eesn't eet?" Christophe muttered. "Ze seducer gets off our backs, and 'e finds anozer guy zat cares about 'im."

"Yep." Damien agreed.

"And ze two who 'ate each ozer end up togezer." he continued.

"Yep." Damien repeated.

"And ze two ozer ones get togezer, too." he looked at Craig, who had his arm over Tweek's shoulder, holding him close. At the comment, Craig flipped off the Frenchman lazily, before looking over at Token again and smiling.

"Eet's so very perfect." Christophe growled. He hated perfect things. They were fake, they weren't reality. In the real world, nothing turned out perfect.

Which was why Christophe hated God so much. God was too perfect, too pure. It was like he was just there to piss off Christophe. But then, Christophe realized, he never doubted the existence of God entirely. Why would he hate God so much if he thought he didn't exist? You had to believe in something in order to hate it, at least a little bit. If you completely denied that the thing existed, how could you hate it?

It was something that made Christophe's head spin.

"It is. It's too perfect." Damien said, looking at the couples around him.

Christophe grinned. "Not too perfect, _cherie._"

Damien frowned in confusion. The expression was wiped off suddenly when Christophe slugged him in the face.

"Okay." he said. "_Maintenant, c'est parfait._"

**There we go. The end. I'm not really big on the ending, but I kinda had to finish this quickly. I was running out of ideas Dx I got a little emotional (for me) at the end, so, of course, I had to make it a shitty, cliche ending. But I hope you guys liked it anyway.**

**French Stuff (THE LAST ONE :'( ) **

**_deux minutes_**** - two minutes**

**_cherie - _****darling**

**_Maintenant, c'est parfait._**** - Now, it's perfect.**


	16. Epilogue - Love?

**HI AGAIN! :3**

**I really, really was disappointed for the end of this story. So, I wrote a short little epilogue. **

**A quick word of warning. The whole thing is an almost-smut. ("Almost" being that there's just about everything in there but the description of dick, which I was just too awkward to write.)**

**But yeah, for all you pervs out there, enjoy, I guess.**

**(The italics are song lyrics to Down With The Sickness by Disturbed. It kinda fit the bill, and it's my favorite song, so, ya know...)**

_OHHHH AHHHAHHAHHAHH!_

Christophe slammed Damien into the wall of the Antichrist's bedroom, kissing him fiercely. It had been months after the Token and Kenny incident, and the want between the two boys had grown to a point where neither of them could stand being apart from one another for too long.

_Drowning deep in my sea of loathing_

_Broken, your servant, I kneel..._

The Frenchman dominated the kiss, forcefully biting down on Damien's lip. Damien moaned as the sharp taste of his own blood filled his mouth momentarily, before it was lapped away by Christophe's greedy tongue.

He would let the brunette have his fun.

For now.

_Will you give in to me?_

Christophe pinned Damien's wrists above his head and broke away, attacking the Antichrist's neck. Damien felt a rumble rise in his throat, but he wasn't going to give Christophe the satisfaction.

_It seems what's left of my human side_

_Is slowly changing in me_

Shoving Christophe away, Damien ran towards the other boy and trapped him against the opposite wall. Christophe growled in annoyance as Damien smirked, eyeing the Frenchman's bare chest. His muscles rippled underneath the tanned skin, and his shoulders were littered with scars. The one that he noticed the most, though, was one across his collarbone, that he didn't have before.

_Will you give in to me?_

"Where did you get that?" Damien asked between kisses to the brunette's shoulders.

"Keeled a museum guard. Stole a painteeng for my boss." Christophe responded, trying to make his voice sound like he wasn't feeling the warmth that was spreading all over his body.

_...Get up, come on get down with the sickness_

Damien shifted and traced the scar on Christophe's neck with his tongue. "Why am I not surprised?" he murmured softly, his smooth voice sending shivers down Christophe's spine. The mutual feeling of curiosity between the two boys was imminent. Neither of them had done this before. Damien had with Kenny, but he didn't feel the same way. He didn't feel this—_electricity_—that was shocking him to the core like he did now.

Damien's voice shifted from a gentle mumble to a seductive growl. "After I'm done with you, you're going to have a lot more scars."

_Open up your hate, and let it flow into me..._

Christophe frowned, trying to sound as sexy as Damien. "Not eef I can 'elp eet." The words made his body be overcome with tremors of lust and excitement.

Damien wrapped his arms around the Frenchman's waist and pulled him in closer, and Christophe kissed him so violently he could practically feel his lips bruising beneath Christophe's.

The pair fell onto Damien's bed, so that Damien landed on top. He grinned, almost evilly.

_...Madness is the gift that has been given to me..._

Scanning over Christophe's chest, he felt the other boy squirm beneath him uncomfortably. Though Christophe felt a bit self-conscious as Damien stared at his body, it made him long for his touch more.

"Well?" he asked, glaring at Damien. "Are you goeeng to do somezeeng?"

Damien just chuckled and nodded. Slowly, he dragged his tongue up the Frenchman's chest. Christophe felt a surge of agony sear through him, the same way he felt when Damien burned him a long time ago, before they were paired up as project partners.

But it didn't stop there

_No Mommy! Don't do it again! Don't do it again! I'll be a good boy!_

He continued, maneuvering his way across Christophe's chest, until the dark welts formed together, joining up to form the letter D.

"You see that?" Damien whispered, leaning in so that his eyes were directly level with Christophe's. They were watering in pain. Guilt surged through him, but it was overcome by the sweet pleasure of knowing that Christophe was his now.

_I'll be a good boy! I promise..._

Christophe tried to fight it, but the warmth-both from the burns on his chest and the longing that corrupted his mind—was too much to handle. His tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

Damien's sadistic expression softened.

"Don't cry." he mumbled sweetly, kissing away the tears and feeling their salty taste.

"After this, I'll never hurt you, ever again."

Damien's hands made their way to Christophe's waistband, pulling down his worn-out cargo pants as he kissed the boy softly. It felt good, to kiss him like this. Both of them felt the same way at that moment. They knew that after this, there wasn't any turning back.

And then Christophe saw spots and Damien saw stars. It was a complete blur, like the whole thing was a dream. It all happened so fast.

_Come on, get up, get down with the sickness..._

The music that was on Damien's speakers distorted itself as it hit Christophe's ears. The tones sounded twisted and unreal in his mind, that was still foggy from what just happened.

And in the spur of the moment, it happened. The words just poured out of his mouth, without any sort of filter. They exploded off Christophe's tongue like fireworks of victory.

_"Je t'aime."_

_Madness has now come over me..._

**I'm pretty sure you know what that French phrase means, am I right?**

**No hate, please. That was my first smuttish situation chapter thing, and I know it kinda sucks that there's no dick. Oh. My. God. That was the best pun EVER!**

**But yeah, thank you all SOSOSOSOSOSO much for giving your time to read this story. I appreciate all of you guys' reviews and stuff! (I'm not gonna make this sound like I get an Oscar, I hope Dx)**

**Lastly-I'm working on a new story called Stripes And Belts. For all you Creek fans out there, you should check it out. It's make me sooooooo happy.**

**See you guys over there, I guess!**

**-M :3**


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